


Behind the Stacks

by deerchris



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Blow Jobs, Drunken Kissing, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Humor, Language, Library Sex, M/M, POV Castiel, POV Dean Winchester, Sarcasm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-20
Updated: 2014-07-24
Packaged: 2018-01-11 19:37:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 42,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1177082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deerchris/pseuds/deerchris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One of the rules of Castiel's job is to make sure students keep R-rated actions to a minimum behind the dusty shelves of the library. Then he meets Dean, who's willing to break the rules just as much as Castiel is. [On temporary hiatus]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For future reference, "Castiel" is in Castiel's POV, and "Cas" is in Dean's. 
> 
> Note (as of 9/23): I am not abandoning this fic, but putting it on hiatus until I sort some things out. Sorry for the wait.

Castiel needed money. And he needed it quick.

College was expensive as fuck, and it wasn't going to pay itself. Suddenly, one dollar meals at fast food restaurants became too expensive for someone who was lucky enough to find a single nickel on the ground in the hallway. Paper for notes turned into writing on any surface he could get his hands on. Shampoo became the cheap bars of soap the school gave out for free. Not to mention Castiel's roommate, Balthazar, who was a rich ass, British bag of dicks, and refused to lend him any money. Starving to death and failing classes wasn't a choice unless Castiel wanted to go back to living with his brother, Gabriel, who had the habit of bringing frisky women home in the wee hours of the night and giving Castiel the responsibility of letting them out in the mornings.

And that's how Castiel found himself at the campus library the day after spring break, nervously standing behind other desperate students in a line leading to the main desk, hoping to score a job that paid, well, anything.

When he finally reached the front, sitting behind the desk was the same old, grey haired, grumpy librarian who had more wrinkles than his roommate's ass cheeks. No doubt she looked tired and fucking _done_ with life, and Castiel was worried she'd jump out of her spinning chair at any moment and announce her retirement from this hellhole.

“Excuse me.” Castiel waved a hand, trying for confident and failing miserably. The librarian glanced up, eyed Castiel up and down like she was judging for Vogue's Best-Dressed, and frowned at his worn KSU sweatshirt and disheveled bedhead. She held up a wrinkly finger then continued typing on the computer as Castiel blew overgrown hair out of his face.

“May I apply for a job here?” he asked after a moment, leaning on the desk and intertwining two fingers for luck. The woman clicked her mouse, studied the glowing screen for a moment, then swiveled her chair to face Castiel.

“There are no more slots open. Come back later,” she replied in a pitched voice too young for the rest of her body, which Castiel disgustingly pushed out of his mind.

Castiel cleared his throat once. “Ma'am, I really need this job. You see, I'm taking extra courses and—” he started, batting his lashes like the girls he'd seen at the coffee shop when they tried to get a discount on their Frappuccino's, but the woman cut him off with a swipe of a manicured hand.

“Save the talk, sweetheart,” she drawled. “I've heard the same 'I'm-a-hardworking-student-with-no-dinero' speech over a hundred times today. Come. Back. Later.” The librarian turned back to the screen, fake nails jamming into the keyboard.

“I'll do it for half the pay.” Castiel insisted, though it came out as more of a question.

“Half the students already offered. You need to do better than that,” the librarian answered, taking a book from the cart on her right and running the scanner over it with a beep. Castiel could clearly see he was being dismissed, but wouldn't budge, because he was Castiel fucking Novak who didn't take any shit from old women. Maybe.

Castiel tapped his fingers on the desk, refusing to leave until the librarian gave him _something_ to work with. She looked up at him, once, twice, then she sighed, rolling her eyes. “I'll see what I can do. Sign this.” She reached into an open drawer and pulled out an application. “If I like you, you can come back tomorrow. If I don't, tough luck.” She slid the paper across the desk, then dropped a pen on it.

“What, no 'thank you'? You think I'm just some mean old hag?” she scoffed, and Castiel fought the urge to say yes, muttering a 'thank you' instead. He hesitated, then reached for the paper, eyes skimming down the contract, all the crap about payment and working hours, insurance policy in case a book decided killed him, yada yada. He popped the cap off the pen and crookedly scribbled his signature on a line at the bottom before handing the paper back to the librarian.

“You start today. Put these back on the shelves,” the woman ordered, standing up from her seat, and gestured to the pile of books in the cart to her left, “ _correctly_.” Castiel eyed the hundreds of shelves surrounding the library and winced.

“Of course.” Yeah, he could do this. Sort by subject, sort by major, sort by author.

“No one should be eating or drinking, chewing some goddamn gum, writing in the books, folding the corners, or taking anything without checking it out,” the librarian continued, and Castiel nodded in agreement. Easy job was easy. “And while you're at it, you can make sure that no one's doing any sort of hanky-panky in the back of my library.” She raised a finger at him.

“I'm sorry?”

“Whatever you kids do these days behind the damn bookshelves when you think no one's looking,” the librarian snapped. “Cameras may be busted, but that don't mean my eyes are. I don't need any student asking why her damn astronomy book is glued shut.”

“People really do that?”

“They don't put boring textbooks in the back for nothing, honey.” The chair squeaked in suffocation as the librarian slumped back in it. “Now go, before I change my mind about the whole arrangement.”

Castiel shuffled off and grabbed the handles of the cart, maneuvering it between tables and chairs. He put half books back on the shelves—so many goddamn shelves—where he hoped was “correctly”—pathology textbook in the biology section? Who fucking knows—then stopped for a quick break.

Castiel wandered around aimlessly, curiously making his way over to a table where a leather jacket was flung carelessly over the back of one of the four chairs. A guy Castiel thought he recognized from his English class was seated there, chin propped up with a hand, brows furrowed, and body hunched over a mythology textbook; 'Aphrodite' was printed in large letters at the top, along with a corresponding statue of the goddess. As the guy shifted in his seat to a more comfortable position, his tee shirt rode up above his lower back, showing a small bit of tan, smooth skin, and he ran his free hand through light brown, spiked hair.

As Castiel passed by, the smell of cherry hit his nose and lingered in the air for a moment before disappearing. He let the cart go and whipped his head around, taking a few steps backwards and sniffing around, trying to find the source of the sweet scent without making it look obvious. His eyes reached the guy's face, where he was rolling a lollipop in his mouth, tongue darting out every few licks. The guy's cheeks moved with his mouth, hollowing in and out, and Castiel couldn't help but stare, not thinking once that he might come off as a creep with a fetish for mouths. The small actions the guy did were enough to make Castiel's heart beat erratically and send signals straight down to southerly places he'd rather not say, and he self-consciously walked behind the seat opposite from where the guy was sitting.

“No food in the library?” Castiel squeaked. The guy looked up and Castiel's eyes widened because w _oah, hello, handsome._ Brown glasses framed the guy's confused green eyes before realization dawned on him, and his lips curled into a smile around the stem.

“My bad,” he said, mouth full of fucking cherry lollipop, and dug through his pocket for a wrapper, using his other hand to pull the lollipop out from his mouth, slowly, lips following the round outline of the hard candy. _Holy hell, this guy is making one simple action look so fucking arousing and he doesn't even fucking know it,_ Castiel thought, then looked away, biting on his own tongue to keep from giggling like a twelve year old girl. He heard a crinkling sound as the guy tossed the lollipop into the trashcan beneath the table.

“All better?” the guy asked, and lifted an eyebrow, mouth red, flicking an equally scarlet tongue over his lips, removing any remnants of the flavor, though Castiel mentally volunteered as tribute to lick it off, bite and suck those pillowy lips between his teeth, and _shit_ , what if this guy could read minds?

“Yes,” Castiel muttered, and the guy gave a small smile in return, galaxies upon galaxies of freckles spreading along his cheeks, right down to his indented dimples and soft jaw.

The guy wiggled in the chair again, and Castiel made a move to leave just as the guy spoke up. “Oh, no, you don't have to go. My ass is just falling asleep since these damn chairs are harder than a porn star's dick,” he laughed.

And how does one respond to something like that? Gabriel would know probably. WWGD?—Castiel needed to get that tattooed somewhere. He racked his mind for something interesting to say back, something that would impress the guy, like the fact that Castiel was numero uno in Chess Club and they had chairs like that too, or that he graduated high school a year early because he excelled in all his classes, or that he could be funny sometimes if he really tried.

“Mythology? That's one of my minors,” Castiel said as lamely as not possible, gesturing to the guy's book. Yes yes, good good, mythology was a subject Castiel knew he was good at, though describing the shape of this guy's lips and the shade of his freckles would be a close second, and _oh my god, Castiel, pull yourself together_ , Jo Harvelle would yell to him, and then slap Castiel across the face with a rubber chicken.

The guy lifted the book's cover to check, expression surprised, as if he was just now acutely aware of what he was reading. “Oh, Really?” Castiel nodded. “Yeah, I made the mistake of minoring in cultural studies because I thought, 'hey, anthropology would be fucking great for traveling the world',” he said, exasperatedly sarcastic, and gave Castiel a you-gotta-do-what-you-gotta-do smile that had Castiel's breath catching.

“You travel often?” Castiel asked, trying not to sound so completely immersed in this guy Castiel swears is his reward for putting up with Gabriel and his no-good shit for the last twenty-one years.

“Well, you know, I like to drive cross-country, saving people, hunting things, the family business.” The guy took his glasses off and scrubbed the lenses between the folds of his shirt.

“You hunt gods?” Castiel said slowly, though it came out more as a statement.

“Family business,” the guy repeated, shrugging, sliding the rims of his glasses behind his ears, and who knew that the little pieces of flab that stick from your head could be so damn attractive?

“Interesting,” Castiel answered.

“So, uh, you work here?” the guy asked, gaze fixated on something beyond Castiel's waist, and Castiel followed his eyes to the cart half-filled with miscellaneous textbooks.

“Something of that nature, yes. It's my first day. Test-trial, you could say.”

“Huh.” A pause. “Well, you're kinda too hot to be a librarian. Just sayin'.” The guy gave a crooked smile at Castiel's reddening cheeks, and went back to reading, like he didn't just openly express a flirtation with Castiel and almost give him an panic attack with that stupid smile. Castiel stood there silently for the next minute, watching in fascination how the guy's green eyes flicked over sentence after sentence, how his lips curled when he concentrated enough.

Then a fist slammed down on the table; Castiel flinched. “I've read the same paragraph five times in a row,” the guy said, tone surprisingly lax, and glanced up at Castiel, who, no, does not know about the boundaries of personal space. “So you gonna keep standing there counting my freckles? Or are you gonna sit your pretty little ass down and explain to me what all this crap means?”

If possible, Castiel turned even more crimson, then padded to the opposite side of the table, embarrassingly manhandling the cart as he failed to squeeze between it and a shelf.

“I'm Dean, by the way,” the guy introduced, sticking out a hand when Castiel took the seat next to his.

“Castiel,” he answered, and grasped Dean's hand, admiring the way the man's palm and fingers were callused, but soft and a little sweaty at the same time.

“Castiel?”

“Yes, that's me.”

“I'll just stick with Cas. That okay?”

“Okay.”

Dean dropped Castiel's hand after a pause and slid the book in the middle.

“How may I be of assistance, Dean?” Castiel asked, trying the new name on his tongue, pleased with the way it rolled off his tongue like smooth silk. He fought the urge to grab Dean's warm hand again, and maybe play with his fingers, compare the distinct patterns of their palms.

“All of this—” Dean waved a hand around the book, leg brushing Castiel's, but he continued on, hopefully not noticing Castiel's heavy inhales and exhales that maybe sounded like Darth Vader. “—because I honestly don't know what the fuck any of this means.”

“So, let us start from the beginning.” Castiel instructed, flipping to the first chapter. Harmless touching was harmless.

“Sure, but warning: I'm real horrible at this kind of stuff,” Dean huffed.

“I'm here to help, am I not?”

“No, no, you are, Cas. I'm just saying, you know.” Castiel's heart skipped a beat at the nickname.

“Yes, I understand.” Castiel skimmed the page in front of him, and cleared his throat. “You do know Zeus, correct?”

“The one with all the, uh, lightning bolts, like in 'Hercules'.” Dean gave a toothy grin.

“You are _very_ bad at this.” Castiel tsked.

“ _What_?”

“Hercules was in no way related to lightning. He was made up entirely of courage and...muscle,” he explained, then reached over to squeeze Dean's bicep playfully, because guys do that to other guys all the time, right?

“I thought we were talking about Zeus,” Dean said a moment later, breathing uneven.

“But you mentioned Hercules,” Castiel pointed out, hand rested softly on the other man's shoulder.

“The _movie_.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes at Dean. Surely, Hercules hadn't been in a movie. Hercules was only a legend. Hercules only came from textbooks and not media. But then again, Castiel was near-hermit and never understood anything past his birthdate anyway. “I don't understand that reference,” he said finally.

“I'll have to show you sometime then,” Dean said suggestively, and Castiel was lost for words, instead absently trailing his fingers lightly up and down Dean's arm with newfound confidence. He retracted his hand when Dean's face turned strange.

“My apologies. I should probably learn to improve my interaction with others,” Castiel mumbled, voice almost too low for Dean to hear. Yeah, the touching boundary was a bridge not crossed, unfortunately. Who was Castiel kidding? He met Dean _minutes_ ago. Castiel'd be a little weirded too out if Dean started running hands all over _his_ body.

Actually no, that would still be perfectly okay with him.

“Nah, it's cool, man. I don't work out for nothing,” Dean replied with a reassuring smile that made Castiel melt a little on the inside, his gaze on Castiel's lips and then back to his eyes. Castiel could see the faint redness of Dean's cheeks, and he traced the movement of Dean's tongue as he moistened his still too red lips. Castiel didn't think he'd ever wanted to kiss anyone more, and that made his mind go wild.

“May I recommend a different textbook? This one isn't as—informative, and I believe the other one will greatly improve your knowledge in Ancient Greek mythology,” Castiel suggested, leaning back a few inches and watching in smug fascination how Dean's head followed involuntarily.

Dean seemed to catch himself, coughing nervously, and ran a hand through his hair. “Sure, teach.” He slipped his jacket on and stood up, patting Castiel on the shoulder awkwardly.

Dean followed Castiel through the library towards the mythology section, weaving in and out of rows and rows of shelves to the back, where Castiel usually spent time at when he needed somewhere quiet to study.

“Hardly anyone comes back here,” Castiel whispered, on his knees, searching through the dim light for needed textbook.

“I wonder why,” Dean answered, boots clunking as he paced the carpet.

“It really is a great place to study without being interrupted.”

“Or other things.”

“Is that a euphemism for something?” Castiel asked in amusement, huffing at Dean's “Only if you want it to be,” and pulled out a textbook somewhere in the bottom shelf. When Castiel stood, he found himself face to face with Dean, jumping slightly, and was that a fucking _book_ hidden in Dean's pants? Hardcover, if he had to take a wild guess.

Castiel's breath hitched, the tingle in the back of his throat that demanded him to just lean in a little bit more, and Castiel was torn between the desire to fist Dean's hair in his hands and kiss him senseless or walk away because he was already thinking about breaking the rules less than an hour into his new job.

“Looks like Aphrodite put a spell on you.” Dean smirked when he saw the obvious expression in Castiel's eyes, that perfectly strange mixture of _want_ and _need_.

“Are you suggesting that the goddess of sexual desire is a witch?” Castiel asked shyly, staring at Dean's red lips and running his hand over the worn, wrinkled leather of his jacket.

“You know mythology has never been, uh, my greatest strength.” Dean chuckled. Castiel could smell a faint hint of cherry on his breath.

“Well, good thing it’s mines,” Castiel breathed.

Castiel didn't know who made the first move, but all he knew was that Dean was kissing him back, hot and open, and Castiel dropped the book as the flavor of cherry hit his mouth. Hands—he didn't really know where to put them—traveled up Dean's jacket as Dean licked along the Castiel's lower lip, and he quivered from the sensation, brain going from ' _this feels really nice'_ to ' _sex, now_ ' in 0.3 seconds flat.

It'd been a while since anyone's made Castiel feel this way, hell, no one _ever_ made him feel this way, and Castiel was enjoying every fucking moment of it, could you blame him? Dean's tongue found its way into his mouth, and though Castiel found it hard to breathe, gasping between breaths, he wouldn't part their lips even if held at gun point. He shoved Dean's jacket off and away, sweaty hands slipping on the leather, and gripped Dean's arms tight, or he'd probably collapse. A hand slid into Castiel's hair and tugged lightly, making him groan, while others groped where the mouth couldn't reach.

“We shouldn't do this here, Dean.”

“Mmm, but we are,” Dean mumbled against his mouth, already hot and hard against Castiel's thigh. He took one of Castiel's hands from his arm and brought it down to his crotch. “Are you complaining?” Dean panted, eyes flickering shut.

“No.”

“Good.” Dean scratched at Castiel's scalp, pulling him closer, until Castiel was nothing but a puddle of adrenaline in Dean's arms. “Don't tease,” Dean groaned when Castiel's hand stretched along the front of his jeans.

“I've n-never done this before.” Castiel stuttered, dragging fingers across Dean's prominent erection, then cupping Dean through his jeans, and Dean hissed, pushing his hips up into Castiel's hand, like he couldn't really help himself.

“Well, the teacher,” Dean nibbled on Castiel's earlobe and he mewled, “has now become the student. I'll go slow. Don't worry.”

“Not too slow.” Castiel said with a hint of tease in his voice. Dean leaned back and looked at him, a smile forming on his lips. Then his mouth was back on Castiel's, the flavor of cherry intermixing between the two.

“Seducing me,” Castiel mumbled around Dean's tongue, “in the back of the library too. Dean, you are _shameless_.”

“It,” Dean paused, pressed his mouth against Castiel's, hot and open, “had to be done. Besides, I knew you were checking me out.”

“Watching your hot ass running around like that,” Dean continued, “making it hard _very_ to concentrate.” He kissed Castiel again, long and slow, leaving them both breathless. Dean undid the draw string on Castiel's sweatpants and slid his hands inside the waistband, massaging Castiel's ass with his palms. “These sweats got nothin' on you, Cas.” More kissing and groping.

“God, you're hot,” Dean gasped into his mouth and led Castiel's hands to the bottom of his tee shirt. Castiel grabbed the hem and lifted it above Dean's head in a swift movement—holy hell, Dean was all smooth planes and tan skin with fucking _freckles_ galore—and his glasses fell to the floor. Both paused awkwardly, staring down at the glasses, until Castiel made a move to bend down to pick them up or kick them over to the side so either of the two wouldn't end up stepping on it, but Dean caught Castiel's lips with his own, stopping him.

“Just leave it for now,” Dean growled, a sound that went straight to Castiel's dick. God, he didn't think he'd ever been this turned on in his life just from a little foreplay.

Dean's lips left Castiel's own for a moment and he used the opportunity to pull Castiel's shirt off. The garment caught around his head and Dean cursed.

“Why the fuck is this so hard to take off,” he groused, and finally pulled it off Castiel's head, tossing it onto the dusty floor, as Castiel let out a small laugh because, _damn_ , Dean seemed just as eager as Castiel was to get this moving along.

There was just something so _exciting_ about breaking the rules and trying not to get caught, and if Dean was willing, who was Castiel to say no?

Castiel felt pain along his back when Dean slammed him into the shelf and latched onto his neck, sucking purple-red bruises along his skin, and Castiel gasped, tilting his head back as far as he could, running his hands all over Dean's bare backside. The grip on his waist hardened as Dean pushed his hips forward, flush against Castiel.

“I just met you, and I'm already so crazy about you,” Dean murmured, rubbing small circles over Castiel's hipbones, and he kissed him again, teeth clashing, chests pressed together, tongues tangled with one another's.

“Is that a good thing?” Castiel asked when they broke apart for air, running his hands down Dean's arms and feeling strong muscles between his fingers.

“Only if you want it to be,” Dean answered, ducking his head, hands on Castiel's waist, and swirled his tongue over Castiel's nipple, nub hardening under the touch. Castiel made a noise in the back of his throat that sounded embarrassingly like 'nghh', but it seemed to urge Dean on anyway, hands running all over Castiel's sweat-soaked body. Dean brought his head up and tongued Castiel's mouth again, mumbling something about where Castiel had been 'all this time'.

“I don't know,” Castiel said breathlessly as Dean caught Castiel's lower lip between his teeth, biting down gently, and _fuck_ , Castiel almost lost it right there. Dean slipped a leg between Castiel's thighs, and Castiel rocked onto it, trying to relieve himself against the coarse denim with the delicious friction. Dean took his leg back almost immediately, and Castiel whimpered, a pathetic little sound that had him practically begging for Dean to just pull down his fucking pants and jerk him already.

“I'm not gonna let you get off that easily,” Dean smirked, easily reading Castiel's frustration, and used a hand to shove Castiel's sweats down while Castiel felt along Dean's chest, down to his groin, undoing the fly on Dean's jeans, shakily, but effective. Dean wiggled out of his jeans, boxers still on, and kneeled.

“You've been a good teacher.” Dean muttered, mouthing at Castiel's dick through the fabric of his shorts. “I should thank you.”

“I thought 'the teacher has now become the student',” Castiel panted in return, fisting Dean's hair and tugging harshly, because Dean seemed to like that sort of thing. Dean pulled back, eyes unreadable.

“Fuck, you're gonna kill me someday, Cas.” He pulled Castiel's boxers down with his teeth and Castiel hissed as the cold air hit his skin. “Is that why I haven't seen you around the school? You've been cooped up in this dusty piece of work, like some fucking caged animal,” Dean continued, nosing at Castiel's cock, when, without warning, Castiel sneezed, let his guard down for a moment. Dean squeezed the base of Castiel's dick just in time, keeping Castiel from release and sending sharp tremors back up his body that had him tearing up a little. He made a wounded animal noise and sagged against the bookshelf.

“Whew. That was close,” Dean said, trying to contain his laughter, still holding on to Castiel's length, lightly pinching the tip with his fingers. “This would've over a lot sooner if that happened. And I haven't even had my way with you yet.”

Dean stroked Castiel once then cautiously removed his hand and palmed Castiel's thighs, pushing them against the shelf. He chased and caught Castiel's cock with his mouth, licked a stripe up underside of the shaft teasingly, and sucked in the head, already shining and dripping fat, pearly drops of precome. Castiel gasped and gripped Dean's hair tight, panting his name, and _fuck_ , Dean was _blowing_ him, suction hot wet tight, and it felt so fucking incredible Castiel wanted to scream, and he almost forgot for a moment that he was in a library and can't afford to blow his cover, pun _not_ intended.

“Be quiet, Cas,” Dean whispered playfully when Castiel let out a string of 'Dean, Dean, Dean, Dean', and flattened his tongue, swallowing Castiel down in one go, and eliciting a loud, lewd moan from above that Castiel never knew he could make. He threw his head back into the shelf with a _crack_ and squeezed his eyes shut.

“Cas,” Dean warned around around a mouthful of Castiel's dick, his tongue, hot and velvety, cheeks hollowing in, throat constricting—it was far too much for Castiel to handle.

“You're not exactly making it fair,” Castiel panted, bucking his hips frantically, but one of Dean's arms was strong enough to hold him back, the other hand jacking what his mouth couldn't reach. Dean bobbed his head torturously slow, and Castiel, who may or may not have lost a few brain cells from banging his head on the bookshelf one too many times, bit his lip hard to control his shouts.

“Dean, just _give_ it to me. Make me come, _please_ ,” Castiel moaned, over and over, writhing like he'd never been touched before—which he hasn't, not like this, _ever_ —and Dean leaned back, grinding himself filthy on the carpet.

“Oh, I love it when you talk dirty,” Dean rose up on his knees and bit into the soft skin of Castiel's hip before soothing it over with his tongue.

“Don't say that.” Castiel laughed as Dean left a trail of kisses down his thigh.

“I should say that more often then.” Castiel didn't have time to protest Dean's statement before Dean was drawing Castiel's cock back in his mouth, the sensitive tip brushing the back of Dean's throat, along with a little teeth, a hint of pain mixed with pleasure, and it was fucking glorious. Castiel whined loud enough for the whole library to hear, and Dean pulled back with a pop.

“Cas, shut up or I'll stop,” Dean whispered, reaching up blindly to cover Castiel's mouth with one of his hands, and then going back down on him, hot tight heat fucking _everywhere_. Dean wrapped his lips around the head, tongue swirling around and teasing the slit on top. Castiel bit into Dean's hand to muffle his sounds, and Dean lightly nipped the tip of his dick, making Castiel yelp.

There was only muffled chants of “ _yes_ ” and “oh” and “ _Dean, Dean, Dean, Dean_ ” with a corresponding head thump against the back of the shelf, that had Castiel coming undone as simple as pulling the string of a ribbon, but god, he never wanted this to be over.

“I'm gonna—Oh, Dean,” Castiel mewled, eyes rolling to the back of his head, when he felt a hand massage his balls, rolling them in the palm, a fingertip running lightly over the groove between them. Castiel glanced down through half-lidded eyes to see Dean's shining red lips around him, green eyes staring back up, and it was insane how Castiel could _feel_ Dean _smiling_ with that fucking cherry red mouth stretched tightly around him. Castiel thrust his hips, fucking into Dean's throat mercilessly, body balancing on that sweet line between pleasure and need, spiraling higher and higher and higher until—

“Dean!” Castiel yelled, muffled behind a palm, biting down hard on the salty hand over his mouth, coming stripes down Dean's throat, back arching dangerously off the shelf as he clutched onto Dean's shoulder with one hand, gripping the light brown hair just shy of painful with the other. Castiel trembled all over, breathing heavily, as his orgasm rolled out wave after wave of pleasure.

Then suddenly Dean was on his feet again, dragging Castiel's hand out of his hair and pushing it underneath the the elastic of his boxers. Castiel grasped Dean's cock, a hot and hard weight in his hand, and stroked the length slowly, knowing Dean wouldn't last very long. Dean made a breathy noise in the back of his throat, and Castiel pressed his mouth against Dean's, tasting himself bitter with the sweet hint of cherry.

Castiel picked up his pace, fisting Dean faster, and Dean moaned into the side of Castiel's neck, biting the skin of his shoulder harsh enough to leave bite marks for Castiel to investigate later. Castiel winced, but continued moving his fingers, precome leaking from the tip giving him a slick and smooth motion. He squeezed the base of Dean's dick, experimenting, hearing Dean's short breaths and obscene noises a warm breath against his ear, and, _fuck_ , that wasn't hot enough to get Castiel off again.

Castiel turned his head, studying Dean's face, his own cock twitching slightly by the pure, blissed-out expression in Dean's green eyes, pupils dilated, almost completely covered in black. Castiel flicked his wrist once, and Dean was gone, mouth open in a silent shout as a splash of warmth coated Castiel's hand. He stroked Dean through his orgasm, milking out every white drop, then kissed him again, though it was more of a brush to his lips than anything.

—

“Not bad for a first day on the job,” Dean mumbled when his breathing calmed, arms somehow trapping Cas between his body and the shelf behind him.

“I just hope I don't get fired.” Cas detached himself from Dean's arms as Dean reached for his tee shirt from the floor, handing it to Cas to wipe his hand. He stuck the book back to a random place on the shelf and pulled his pants on, ignoring the jellylike feeling of his legs. Dean put his glasses on, finally able to watch Cas' lean movements as the man slipped his shirt back on gracefully and watch his nimble fingers make a perfect bow out of the drawstrings on his sweats. Dean shifted, not knowing whether he should just leave or proposition Cas again, because _hell yeah_ , he'd totally be up for this again.

“We should do this again. But next time I'll choose something more interesting,” Dean mused after a moment, covering the short distance between them and lightly slapping Castiel's ass. Castiel jumped, blue eyes widening.

“Of course. That would be nice,” Cas answered, giving Dean a bashful smile. Then, “If it wasn't obvious enough, I...like you,” he confessed, flustered, and blushed scarlet. How was it that they'd been classmates in English 101 for almost a year and Dean just now realized how fucking adorable Cas was?

Dean nodded thoughtfully. “Forward,” he started, and Cas gave him a doe eyed expression, “but I'll take it. I like you too, Cas.”

Cas grinned.

 

 

And that's how the duo end up in the liberal arts section the day after.


	2. Chapter 2

“Last name?” Castiel panted.

“Winchester. Your own?”

“Nova-ahh, Dean.” Dean bit at his throat and Castiel moaned a noise he would most definitely be embarrassed to have made if he wasn’t so fucking turned on by one green eyed man named Dean Winchester.

Now it wasn’t Castiel’s fault he couldn’t keep his hands to himself whenever Dean was around. The guy was just so damn attractive. Castiel loved the way Dean’s stubble scraped across his sensitive skin when Dean licked down his chest, or how the rough denim of Dean’s jeans seemed to always be a tease against his groin.

Seven orgasms were added to their growing tally by their fifth go-around in the library (philosophy section, that is, which wasn’t as disfavorable at the duo thought it would be), and their sixth came to a halt when Jo strolled around the shelf holding a Calculus textbook and smacked Castiel over the head, fuming. Dean’s mouth immediately went slack around his throat when Castiel jolted, and he bent his head, tucking it into the corner where Castiel’s neck met his shoulder, brown glasses smushing themselves between his face and Castiel's skin. 

“This is why God hates me. Castiel fucking Novak is getting laid more than I am! And he’s a damn alpha nerd!” She exclaimed, throwing her hands up while Castiel struggled to pull his pants up where it hung loose around  mid-thigh. It wasn’t helping that Dean was silently laughing to himself, warm breath brushing the crook of Castiel’s shoulder.

“Sorry, Jo.” Dean mumbled and looked up into Castiel’s blushing face. Dean couldn’t tell whether it was from just having a hot make out section or from being utterly embarrassed by Dean’s childhood friend. He guessed the latter.

“You know Joanna?” Castiel asked, hair mussed from when Dean tugged on it.

“We grew up together.” Dean and Jo answered at the same time. Jo threw her friend a death glare.

“This is quite…uncomfortable then.” Castiel commented.

“Nah, it’s okay, Cas.” Jo waved him off. “I’ve seen a lot more of Dean than I ever wanted to. He wore a speedo to my fourteenth birthday party. Bowed legs and all.” She whispered and Dean stepped back to allow Castiel room between him, the very noticeable tent in his pants, and the bookshelf. He straightened his glasses that slid down to his nose. 

“You’re joking.” Castiel buckled the belt on his jeans and smiled fondly at Dean. It seemed like he hardly knew Dean, and that their relationship just revolved around sex, which was probably true.

“Jo.” Dean warned. “It was in style back then, I swear.” He grumbled to Castiel, hoping the blue eyed boy wouldn’t notice his shame. He did, though.

“Speedos, Dean? Really?” Jo raised her eyebrows pointedly. “Well I have to get back to work, because unlike some people,” she nodded to Castiel and he looked away purposely, “sex was not written in my contract.”

“This isn’t—uh,” Dean threw a hand between him and Castiel, motioning towards the both of them. “We’re not—” He scratched the back of his head.

“Save the speech, Dean. I’m tired of coughing loudly to cover for you guys.” Jo smiled grimly and rolled away.

“I’m sorry. She’s—no I’m not gonna even sugar coat it. She’s fucking nosy. Like the little sister I’ve never wanted.” Dean muttered when Jo left, refusing to meet Castiel’s eyes.

“Dean.” Castiel said softly and he looked up. The boy was about an inch away from his face and _woah_ , Dean really did _not_ need to get turned on again by Castiel’s eyes.

“Uh.” He answered stupidly and Castiel reached up to kiss him, eyes still open.

“It’s alright, Dean. I am not here to judge.” Castiel said against his lips.

“You’re here to get into my pants, right?” Dean joked, trying to ease the sexual tension, and failed miserably when Castiel smiled warmly at him, making Dean’s stomach twist into knots.

“Exactly.” The blue eyed boy reached up to kiss Dean again, and Dean licked into his mouth, hands crawling up to fist in his hair.

* * *

Dean looked over to Castiel, who was sitting opposite to him in the library, head bent over an art history textbook. After fooling around for weeks behind the stacks with no signs of stopping or slowing down, this was one of those rare moments where Dean and Castiel weren’t in a mood.

Dean liked Castiel. And not just because Castiel had the bluest eyes he’d ever seen on a person, which was still definitely part of the reason, but also because Castiel was funny, smart, and witty when he wanted to be, which didn’t happen many times, but often enough that Dean still learned to appreciate the guy. But more times than not, Dean and Castiel somehow found their ways to the back to God knows what section of the library, Castiel’s back painfully, but still quite arousing, pressed up against the bookshelf, Dean’s lips latching onto his smooth skin, studies forgotten.

Maybe if he bought Castiel dinner, Dean would be able to squeeze more words out of him that didn’t include the words “Oh, Dean,” or desperate moans coming from the back of his throat and vibrating around Dean’s lips.

“That would be a nice change.” Castiel muttered, and Dean realized he must’ve said that out loud. He panicked slightly before noticing the half-smirk dancing on Castiel’s face.

“Are you saying you don’t enjoy…” Dean teased, letting Castiel catch on to the rest of the question.

“I’m still here, am I not?” Castiel’s grin grew wider.

_Yes, and please stay._

“Dean?” Castiel called when Dean didn’t answer right away.

“Huh?”

“Are—are we dating?” At least Castiel has the good grace to look confident. Dean can’t begin to tell Castiel how long he’s been asking himself the same question.

“I don’t know. _Are_ we?”

“Well, we haven’t exactly been on a proper date unless meeting at the library a few times a week and indulging in promiscuous activities qualifies as 'dates'.” Castiel answered, using his fingers to put emphasis on the word.

“You sound disappointed.”

“I don’t feel disappointed.” Castiel narrowed his eyes.

“Okay, then. Castiel Novak, will you accompany me to dinner tonight if you don’t have any damn exams to study for?” Dean stood up, trying to make a big show of the proposal by spreading his arms wide out. Castiel laughed.

“I would love to, Dean Winchester. But you’re paying.”

“You’re the one who has a job!”

“You’re the one who keeps distracting me from it!”

“But you’re not complaining.”

“Of course not.”


	3. Chapter 3

“You look different. Is that a smile on your face, Cassie Novak? You’re jubilant. It’s affecting my intelligence. Go away." Came a British voice belonging to one asshole roommate that Castiel was sure he didn't order off the menu.  

Good ol' fucking Balthazar—an only child living off his mommy's money like a spoiled poodle and Castiel was the stray living off scraps. All he had was Dean (at least Castiel would like to think Dean was his) and his studies, neither he took granted for. Plus, who knew why the hell Balthazar was at KSU? Surely not for the sample bars of soap Castiel desperately lived off of ("My skin's peeeeeling!" —insert psycho-maniac British young blonde man running down hallway in silk boxers). 

Castiel shut the door and toed off his hand me down black Chuck Taylor's that once belonged to Gabriel and were a few sizes too large. But that was the beauty of high-tops; no one could tell if Castiel walked like a fucking duck from class to class. 

“You can’t possibly know that I’m content.” Castiel retorted. Yeah, he was flustered, who wouldn't be? It was pretty damn exciting to know he was actually on someone’s to do list— pun very much intended.

Hell, Castiel knew he was _way_ out of Dean’s league, and couldn’t even begin to wonder how many times he asked himself why Dean liked him. Like Jo said, Castiel was "alpha nerd". He’d never been on a date before in his life, and thinking of the five hundred ways he could fuck up his first one with Dean wasn’t exactly encouraging him.

Balthazar idly tapped the side of his head at his temple. “Psychology major, remember?”

“I believe you’re wrongly using the term ‘psychology’.”

“Plus your clothes always sink of sex when you beg me to wash them.” Balthazar didn’t need a psychology major to figure what _that_ meant. “So who’s the lucky fellow?”

“Excuse me?” Castiel stripped his Dean-scented shirt for a shower, words jumbling up in the fabric.

“You know.” Balthazar crossed his legs and looked up at Castiel with a knowing smirk on his face. “Your _boy-toy_.”

“My b—it’s nobody.” Castiel answered a little too quickly.

“The hickeys on your neck say otherwise.” Balthazar sang.

Castiel ignored him and crossed the small room in three strides to their shared bathroom that smelled like fucking pansies because living with Balthazar was like being with a damn housewife. He kicked the door shut and pulled the drawstrings of his sweatpants (just doing that simple action reminded Castiel of Dean's own fingers tugging the bow and rubbing small circles into Castiel's waist with callused thumbs), letting them slip down his legs. Freakishly cold showers were Castiel's only option since Balthazar's three hour long baths left the water lacking of more warmth than Voldemort's heart, but at the same time, said cold showers were appreciated because Castiel knew Dean had a kink for his hard nipples.

But Castiel would keep that thought to himself. 

Towel around his waist, Castiel stared in the mirror, touching light week old, dark day old bruises on his neck and chest where Dean sucked at his flesh, looking at his near blank canvas and thinking of new places Dean could mark up and name Castiel his. 

Castiel grabbed his toothbrush, twirling it between two fingers, and squeezed Balthazar’s fancy mint toothpaste on the bristles, scrubbing his teeth vigorously and opening the door with his free hand without thinking twice about covering up his body. He knew he looked good, well, according to Dean. It's kind of funny how someone can can make your self esteem sky rocket out of your body, affecting every action you perform, every word you say. 

Castiel extracted a pair of boxer briefs he hoped were clean from his drawer, carefully stepping around Balthazar’s papers and his hair sprinkled water droplets onto them. Balthazar grunted.

“I’m going out tonight so I will not be able to help you with your flash card terminology.” Castiel said around a mouth of foamy, minty, toothpaste. Balthazar looked up, stared at the hickeys on bare Castiel’s chest, and stood up.

“You’re brushing your bloody teeth. You're going out? It’s only 8 o’clock. Why?” Balthazar narrowed his eyes, took a step forward, and Castiel could almost see the gears turning in his roommate’s brain as he put two and two together, though a sock could probably figure out what Castiel was up to. Hickeys plus staying out late plus fresh minty breath  _obviously_ equaled _not_ getting laid.

Balthazar’s eyes widened and Castiel raced back to the bathroom, slamming the door in the Brit’s face and locking it because he really did _not_ need to have this conversation with his roommate who thought Castiel was a fucking _virgin_ with textbooks and baggy sweatshirts galore.

“Oh my god, little Cassie Novak has landed himself a date hasn’t he? That’s brill!” Balthazar called through the door as Castiel hurried to spit out the toothpaste and rinse his mouth with disgusting tap water. He slipped the boxers on, backwards first, then rearranged them.

Castiel grabbed a razor at random from beside the sink and slathered shaving cream around his neck and face, running the blade along his cheeks and under his chin with rushed ease, careful not to nick himself because Dean’s marks were the only ones Castiel wanted on himself. Plus, if he and Dean ended up making out in the restaurant’s restroom or his car, which would happen very likely, Dean’s stubble on the cut wouldn’t be the only thing blood was rushing toward.

“I have a study date. Though I don’t see how it’s any of your concern.” Castiel tilted his head up to get a better view of where he was aiming the blade, since sporting a slit throat probably wouldn’t be a good idea for a first date.

“Don’t lie to me, Novak. I can practically hear you using my razor to shave your week old beard.”

Castiel snorted and resorted to shaving his stubble in peace. He secretly hoped Dean wouldn’t shave; Castiel liked the feel of Dean’s prickliness brushing his kiss swollen lips.

He wiped his face on one of Balthazar's fluffy towels, loving the soft fabric on his freshly shaven face, and set to do something about his hair. Too much of Balthazar's hair product shit in Castiel's hair would only make Dean’s hand sticky if he tried to run his fingers through it, but too little would look like he slept with a leaf blower. God, Castiel felt like a sixteen year old girl going to her first dance. He settled for somewhere in between instead, a mix of naturally messy, like he wasn’t worried about it too much, but neat enough to know he tried.

“Don’t you dare think about touching my hair product, Cassie!” Balthazar yelled like he could read his mind and Castiel dropped the tube on the floor, clear gel oozing out from it.

Balthazar was leaning against the door when Castiel finally opened it, grabbing his towel and wiping up the mess on the yellow tile. 

“What in the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?! That cost three hundred dollars and was imported from Turkey! You don’t just wipe it up like trash!” Balthazar threw his hands to the floor where Castiel was sure he was just making a larger mess.

“Do you have a better idea, psychologist?”

Balthazar sighed. “My roommate is barmy. I don’t have time for this.” He turned around, rubbing his temples and plopping himself back on the dingy carpet. Castiel left the towel on the ground and followed him out. Balthazar was still muttering out curses. 

“And the Oscar for the _best_  roommate goes to—”

“Leonardo DiCaprio, obviously.” Castiel interrupted, remembering fondly of one day, at the library as per usual, how Dean was arguing with Jo over whether the actor deserved his Academy Award or not.

“No, me. For putting up with your incessant bullshit.” Balthazar muttered. “But good job with the current event.” He added, nodding towards the art history book seated on Castiel’s unmade bed.

“Thank you.”

“By the way, that movie Titanic—the one that he died in?—was complete utter rubbish. I’d go back in time if I could and unsink the damn ship just to get rid of that godawful Celine Dion song. Nearly made me want to smite myself the first time I heard it.” Balthazar put his pen (with his name fucking _engraved_ on it in _gold_ ) to the side of his face and pretended to choke. It was a beautiful image in Castiel's eyes. 

“My date doesn't seem to think so." Castiel started. "He said, and I quote, 'Hot damn, Winslet has a better rack than Sammy's man boobs', though I was led to the conclusion that Sam is his brother and that the anatomy of the masculine species do not consist of female pectorals, but Dean insisted—" he heard the words slip out before his brain could process what his mouth was saying.

“ _Winchester_?” Balthazar looked up, suddenly interested. “ _You're_ dating Dean Winchester? Don’t bite your arm off, Cassie.” He spat out a harsh laugh.

“Uh, no.” Castiel gave a sheepish smile.

“Good. You’re quite out of his league.” Castiel frowned but his roommate continued otherwise. “Ah, Dean Winchester. You could bounce a nickel off of that arse, or in in my case, a bar of gold.”

“His ass is mine.” Castiel growled with a sudden urge of possession, grabbing the pillow from his bed and smacking Balthazar with it. The rush of wind made papers fly in all directions as Castiel’s roommate scrambled to collect them while they floated in the air.

“Castiel!” Balthazar yelled, using his full name like he always did when Castiel pissed him off, which he did one too many times.

There was a knock on the door, and the two froze. Castiel thought it would be a funny image to walk into, wearing only boxers himself, hickeys on full display for anyone to see, and Balthazar trying to catch his papers like it was raining money and he was a stripper. It was akin to something you’d see on one of those television sitcoms.

“Open the door.” Balthazar hissed.

“You do it.” Castiel whispered back. "I'm practically naked." This argument was more than invalid for obvious reasons Castiel would rather not think of with his roommate present in the room. The person rapped on the door again and Castiel heard the unmistakable humming of "Ramble On" from outside. Balthazar raised his eyebrows. 

“It’s _your_  bloody date, you kink.” The Brit rolled his eyes, put his arms down and Castiel huffed, walking over to the door and pulling it open, and there he was, Dean fucking Winchester, wearing a black dress shirt and black jeans that Castiel knew made his ass fucking outstanding. His famous brown turtoise frames that littered the floor their first time together made his green eyes shine and Castiel looked down at his own undressed self and blushed, making the hickeys on his neck stand out even more. Dean smirked at them.

“I'd be lying if I said I'd mind if you wore that tonight, but unfortunately I gotta play by the rules.” Dean clicked his tongue, eyes raking down Castiel's chest, and Castiel tried to concentrate on not letting his roommate have a view of his hard on coming to say hello.

“Uh,” Castiel’s brain seemed to freeze. Dean smelled nice. His stubble was still there, Castiel noticed, and it made him smile. Dean smiled back and Castiel cursed himself for wearing thin fabric over his crotch where a noticeable tent was appearing.

"I thought you didn't follow the rules?" He finally squeaked out. Dean licked his lips and winked. 

Castiel reddened even more and turned around to grab a sweater, pulling it over his head, and sliding on a pair of loosely fitted, blue jeans. As he bent down to tie the stingy shoelaces of his Converse, Castiel could see Balthazar from the corner of his eye, brows furrowed, mouth gaping open as he took in Dean’s figure, clearly surprised.

“I'm ready.” Castiel said and Dean took his hand, pulling him out of the room.

“Cheerio.” Balthazar called with false cheerfulness in his tone.

“Don’t wait up for me.” Castiel answered before shutting the door.


	4. Chapter 4

"I need to be back by eleven." Was the first thing Cas said when Dean ushered him out of the dorm room. 

"Eleven? Dude, Cinderella's got more game than you." Dean rolled his eyes, linking his fingers confidently between Cas’ own. 

Cas looked fucking stunning in that blue cashmere sweater that made the galaxies in his eyes shine and those jeans didn't do him justice either. The innocent part of Dean's mind wondered and made its way over to the porny side, and soon, Dean had Cas up against the wall, biting his collarbone, throat, the spot just below Cas’ ear, the skin that peaked out above the sweater's neck and sucking more marks on the soft flesh, grinding hard against Cas’ hips and groin like he held a personal vendetta against them.

Cas’ mouth fell open in a gasp, and Dean took advantage of that, sealing their lips together, and thrusting his tongue into Cas’ mouth, that fucking talented mouth. He felt Cas’ freshly shaven face drag across his own unkempt stubbled one, and yeah, Dean knew well enough Cas got off on the way Dean's prickliness tickled his chin, cheeks, nose, _tongue_ , and Dean loved the way the blue eyed boy responded instantly to his horny demands, gripping the fabric of Dean's shirt tight between his fingers, not giving a fuck who could walk out their dorm room right now and catch the duo making out and dry humping furiously against the wall. 

"I'm going to wrinkle this." Cas panted between breaths and pulled slightly on the hem of Dean's dress shirt. He raked his fingers down Dean's sides instead, slipping a hand into each of the back pockets of Dean's jeans, massaging his ass and rutting back with just as much enthusiasm as Dean, maybe more. Cas was making these dirty little sounds and grunts of approval in the back of his throat that would probably be best if they weren't legal, and all Dean could do in return was tug and yank on Cas’ stupid sex hair and try not to give his dick too much attention, and Dean's glasses were all fucking crooked and smashed between their noses, and it's fucking wonderful, but it's all too much and Dean wants to not screw their first date up and—

He broke off the kiss, hips stilling, and turned his head away when Cas tried to chase his lips. The boy made a whimpering noise of protest and slunk against the wall, sliding his hands off of Dean's ass and resting them on his hips instead. Dean tucked his nose into the junction between Cas’ shoulder and neck, planting soft kisses there and mouthing words of incoherence into Cas’ flushed skin, trying to control the raging hard on straining in his pants and calm his erratic, and frankly, erotic, breathing. 

"What was that for?" Cas breathed out, lips bruised and swollen, face tilted and tinted a pretty pink color. Dean leaned back and stared at the mussed, dark haired boy with trapped between Dean’s arms on either side of his head, feeling Cas’ length a hard line against his own, and it stifled a small moan out of him.

"Just a little somethin' to get me through the night. You look hot, by the way." 

Cas reddened and Dean gave him a quick kiss, eyes open. "As do you." Cas said quietly, and Dean doesn't think he'll ever get tired of making him blush. He pulled away, straightening out his dress shirt.

"Don't leave me hung out to dry, Dean." Cas warned, voice deep and gravelly like he chewed on glass for a living but still soft and sexy as a sweet cherry pie. 

"We'll get there. I promise. I don't wanna mess this up." He gave Cas another chaste kiss, pulling back as soon as Cas’ tongue snuck out again to sweep across his lips. Cas whined. Dean smirked at that and the moment he turned to head towards the exit, Cas slapped his ass, making him jump. 

"What was hell that for, Cas?" 

"I learned it from the pizza man. 

* * *

_I forgot deodorant_

_I forgot cologne_

_I still have remnants of shaving cream on my jaw._

—were just a few of the millions of thoughts that ran through Castiel's mind as Dean led him towards his car in the lot. He held Castiel's hand the whole way there, which Castiel appreciated a lot more than he thinks he should have. 

"You should drive. I'm not gonna be able to keep my eyes on the road with you wearing that." Dean said, twirling the ring of the car keys around his finger, but Castiel crawled into the passenger seat. 

Dean kissed him at all the red lights, getting a few honks from behind when the light turned green and Dean's tongue was still making itself home in Castiel's mouth. Then Castiel told Dean to control himself and drive carefully, ignoring the downright seducing look Dean gave him. 

"C'mon. Gimme a little action, babe." Dean patted Castiel's thigh with the hand not on the wheel and Castiel pecked his cheek, and maybe even licked the stubble on it too, but no one has to know. 

Dean reached over to switch the radio on, eyes still trained on the road, expertly turning the dial without looking a few degrees left, then right, before settling on a station Castiel was unfamiliar with. Dean looked at Castiel, a grin slowly sweeping across his face, and he banged on the wheel to the beat, moving his body in a wave to the melody, glasses nodding up and down above the slope of his nose.

“ _I'm a cowboy, on a steel horse I ride._ ” Dean sang way off key and Castiel laughed.

_I'm wanted dead or alive_

_Wanted dead or alive_

"I used to sing this with my kid brother when we went on road trips." Dean said suddenly, talking loud over the music. Castiel looked over to him, where Dean’s lips were quirked up into a small smile. Music pumped through Dean’s veins, Castiel could see. You could cut Dean Winchester straight down the middle and musical notes would soar out like prisoners finally seeing the light of day.

_Oh! And I ride!_

Castiel didn't think anyone could sing a guitar solo, but damn, Dean was one of a fucking kind. 

"Where are we going?" Castiel asked when the song ended and Dean turned down the volume.

"The Roadhouse. Jo's mom owns the place. You ever been there, Cas?"

Castiel shook his head and Dean continued. "Well, they have a wicked cheeseburger. This is coming from experience." He jolted his thumb towards himself. The light in from of them turned yellow, then red, and Dean slowed to a stop, waiting for Castiel to say something. 

Castiel frowned. "I'm don't usually associate myself with junk food."

"It's not 'junk', man. It's friggin' heaven. I said I'd choose something good, remember?"

"I trust you."

"I know you do, Cas. Now gimme one more kiss." 

"Dean."

"Just right here, babe, c'mon." Dean tapped his own cheek with a forefinger and his green eyes crinkled beneath the glasses as he smiled. 

Castiel signed and leaned across the gearshift, pursing his chapped lips to Dean face, and Dean turned his head at the last second, making Castiel catch his mouth instead. Dean laughed into Castiel's mouth, sucking Castiel's bottom lip into his mouth and the blue eyed boy was grabbing fistfuls of Dean's dress shirt into his hands. 

The car behind them honked. 

Castiel pushed Dean back into the driver's seat, holding him down when Dean reached in for another kiss. The boy tried to make his blue eyes as threatening as possible and pointed to the road, knowing if they reversed roles, Castiel would have probably pulled the car over like ten minutes ago and gone to town on Dean just to see that hot, satisfied smirk disappear right off his lips. Dean stepped down on the gas pedal, probably thinking the same thing as Castiel, which Castiel was no longer ashamed of him knowing after being so comfortable around Dean these past weeks. Dean slid a hand onto Castiel's thigh, squeezing it slightly. 

"Now I'll drive." 

* * *

Castiel spied the Oreo milkshake on the menu and ordered it on whim while Dean ordered the regular for him and Cas. Jo brought the shake over within a minute, smirking at the duo, and Cas immediately sucked the straw into his mouth, Dean watching his throat move up and down with forceful determination.

“Jesus, save some for me, Cas.” Dean joked, eyeing the way Cas’ lips fit themselves over the blue straw that matched his equally blue cashmere sweater.

“No.” Cas said bluntly, then immediately looked up, easing his mouth off the straw and sliding it across the table to Dean’s side, murmuring an apology.

“It’s fine.” Dean slid the half-empty cup back, then propped his chin up with his elbow resting on the table. “How ‘bout I just lick it out of your mouth instead?” And Cas almost choked.

“That can be arranged.” Cas answered and looked away because, wow, he really didn’t need to pop a boner in a public place. But, oh, the irony.

Dean grinned, showing off the smooth, pearly whites Cas had run his tongue over so many times. “You got any siblings?” Dean asked an easy question. He must have sensed Cas’ struggle to keep it in his pants and took mercy on him.

“Yes. I have 4.”  

“Damn. Any of them as cute as you, Cas?”

“Well, Alfie is considerably—” Cas stopped when Dean started smiling. 

“That was a rhetorical question, babe.”

“Yes, I caught on.”

“But, uh, I highly doubt that. Abo—about Alfie I mean.” Dean stumbled on the words. “I mean, I’ve never seen him, but—” Jo took that perfect opportunity to bring over two plates, each with equally delicious cheeseburgers sitting in the middle surrounded by fries, and set them onto the table.

“Enjoy.” She smiled sweetly, appreciating them with clothes on, and trying really hard not to remember what she witnessed just a few days ago.

“Eat.” Dean told Cas when Jo walked away, pointing to the cheeseburger and Cas picked up a fry.

“No, not the vegetable, Cas. The meat! The good stuff!” To demonstrate, Dean took a huge bite out of his own burger, watching Cas watch him. Cas followed soon after, teeth sinking into the soft bread. His face broke out into a grin and Dean nodded his head.

“Right? Right. _That_ is what heaven tastes like, Cas.”

“Heaven taste like your mouth.” Cas answered before his mind registered what he said. He looked up at Dean guiltily, but Dean was only smirking at him.

“Well, my heaven tastes like your dick, so eat up, babe.” He retorted playfully and ripped apart another piece of burger into his mouth.

"These make me very happy." Cas moaned around a mouthful of cheeseburger and gave a gummy smile to his date. “And what about you, Dean? Please tell me about yourself.”

Dean paused, cocking his head over to the side, eyes hazy. “Well, I grew up in Lawrence, moved around a lot as a kid for reasons I’d rather not say. I’m good at mechanics, I guess. I rebuilt my car, worked at my uncle’s auto shop until I could afford to go to college. Sammy, my brother, he—he’s the smart one in the family. He got my mother’s brains and I was stuck with my dad’s incompetence. I got suspended from school more times than I haven’t, dropped out and rode around the country for a while, took Sammy with me a few times. Then I cleaned up my act after my mother died, got my diploma, and now I’m at Kansas State. Majored in electrical engineering, you know, the whole series circuit, parallel, electromagnetic shit.” Dean rambled. “I’ve got a Baby—”

Cas’ eyebrows shot up and Dean gave him a wolfy grin. 

"Yeah, she's beautiful.” He teased. “Got curves, nice rear, and, oh— did I mention she's got a 327 V8 engine?” Dean waggled his eyebrows and Cas reached across the table to slug his arm and Dean caught his hand, rubbing circles into the skin that wasn’t callused and scarred like his own. 

"The one out there?" Cas pointed with his free hand to the impala parked outside, trying desperately to control the sweaty palm in Dean's hand. 

"Yep. Was my old man's before, and now it's all mine." Dean said that sadly, and Cas couldn’t pinpoint exactly if the sadness was of regret or anger.

"I've always been afraid to take chances, you know.” Dean continued. “It was one of the reasons I was terrified to leave my brother and go to college— gigantic fucking leap of faith right there actually." Cas didn’t say anything, quietly munching on his fries one by one, burger long gone, and Dean drew designs into the palm of his hand. "But here I am. I got everything I need right here with me. I got air in my lungs—"

"Quoting the famous Titanic, I see." Castiel interrupted, trying to lighten the atmosphere, and Dean laughed. "It made you cry, didn't it, Dean? Don’t lie."

"Yeah, tears of joy when it ended." Dean snorted. "I mean, Winslet was a babe, but c'mon, man. An iceberg, really?" Dean shook his head and licked a sesame seed off his lip, looking into his reflection mirrored on the glass picture frame on the wall. "Now's the fun part, Cas. Time for dessert."

Cas gave him a small smile above his empty burger and fries plate. A red stripe crossed the bottom of his face.

“Hey, you got a little somethin’ there, Cas.” Dean pointed to the left side of his chin and Cas wiped the other side. “No. Hold up—” Dean reached over and swept his thumb across Cas’ jaw, not missing the way the boy inhaled sharply. Dean took his hand back and sucked his ketchup stained thumb into his mouth, watching Cas’ blue eyes dilate with what he recognized as arousal.

"I could skip dessert." Castiel said quietly, not quite meeting Dean's gaze.

"You kidding me? Cas, Ellen makes a mean cherry pie and I know you love the taste of cherry in my mouth.” Dean answered teasingly, oblivious to Cas’ intentions.

"No. Dean, I mean, I could really skip dessert." Cas did his best to sound what he hoped was seductive, and rubbed his foot against Dean's ankle. Dean audibly swallowed with a click, and Castiel gave a mentally triumphant fist pump to the air.

When Dean spoke again, his voice sounded cracked and rusty, but it was still pure sex to Cas’ ears. 

"I'll get the check."


	5. Chapter 5

They barely made it up the stairs to the dorm when Cas had to stop and catch his breath, leaning against the railing and trying to calm his too excited crotch, or this would be over a lot sooner than the both of them wanted. If Dean didn’t taste like cheeseburgers, which was oddly turning Cas on, it’d be a lot easier for him to walk up at least two steps without Dean trying his best to stuff his hand down Cas’ too tight jeans.

“Dean.” Cas groaned when Dean wrapped two strong arms around Cas’ waist, pulling it towards his own hips.

“Staircases, Cas? Really? This is what gets you all hot and riled up? I should do this more often.” Dean flicked his tongue over the soft spot behind Cas’ ear.

“Shut up.” He cried out. Dean kissed him and slipped a thigh between Cas’ open legs and Cas rut down on it without a shred of dignity. This continued for a while, Dean’s tongue playfully poking and chasing Cas’ tongue in his mouth, and Cas grinding against his thigh like he rode horses for a living.

“Okay okay.” Dean finally managed to detach himself from Cas’ lips and took his hand instead, pulling him up the stairs and Cas giggled along the way, face flushed red and lips swollen. Dean stopped in the hallway to shove his tongue down Cas’ throat once, then turned him around and pushed the blue eyed boy against his shared dorm room door.

Cas took the key from his pocket and fumbled with the lock, Dean breathing heavily into his ear and rubbing his hard on against Cas’ ass. The door opened with a click and Dean wrapped an arm around Cas, shoving the door open and pulling him into the room, not bothering to turn the lights on, and kicking the door shut behind them.

Dean pushed Cas up against the back door, strangely reenacting their time behind the stacks, and the boy let out a hiss. Dean covered the sound with his mouth until Cas sunk into his kiss, hands reaching up to tug Dean’s hair, then Dean pulled back to look at the boy trapped in his arms. He leaned in to kiss Cas again quickly, and leaned back, teasing Cas, enjoying the way Cas tried to follow his head.

Cas made some sort of pained sound and Dean ran his hands down Cas’ chest, loving the feel of the cashmere covering the sharp planes of Cas’ stomach. He pulled the hem of the sweater up and above Cas’ head, tossing it to the floor, and Cas gasped and sagged against the wall when Dean brushed his nipples with the tips of his callused thumbs. Yeah, Dean didn’t believe in God, but _this_ he could worship.

This was the first time the word _beautiful_ popped into Dean’s head when he saw Cas. They’ve done this a million times before, but being with Cas (and with a bed in the room—finally) made everything seem more intimate. He wanted to take care of Cas and call him his own.

God, when did he become such a girl?

Cas pushed lightly against Dean’s still shirt covered chest self-consciously when Dean continued to move his eyes up and down Cas’ naked chest as if he was deciding what to do first to unravel Cas completely.

“Dean?” Cas asked softly, sensing the atmosphere had changed and gently setting palm on Dean’s left shoulder.

“Yeah, I’m just—sorry.”

Cas gave him a warm smile and took Dean’s glasses off with his free hand, gently folding them, then untangling himself out of Dean’s arms and setting the pair on the night stand next to his unmade bed. Cas turned back around, reaching out until his fingers found the buttons of Dean’s dress shirt. He pinched one between his index and thumb, then looked up at Dean, mentally asking if it this was alright. Dean nodded.

He held Cas’ wrists in his hands as the boy’s fingers swiftly undid each button, breath catching in his throat as Cas slipped the shirt off Dean’s arms. It dropped to the floor as Dean loosened his grip on Cas’ wrists to reach behind his neck and pull the undershirt over his head. It tangled in his hands and Cas laughed, kissing Dean on the nose as Dean fumbled to get the shirt out of his hands.

Cas sucked in a breath when Dean popped the button off of his jeans, tugging the zipper down and rubbing his thumbs on Cas’ hipbones. Dean slipped his fingers through the empty belt loops of Cas’ pants and pulled them down, boxers and all. He stared at Cas’ half hard cock for a second, the dark hair on his abdomen trailing down, before Cas shifted awkwardly, toeing his sneakers and socks off, then Dean was shoving his own jeans down without bothering to undo the button or zipper. It crowded around his feet and he put hand to Cas’ chest to keep his balance as he stepped out of his boxers, kicking off his loafers and using his toes to pull his socks off (there's really no sexy way to taking off shoes and feet warmers, God knows Dean tried). Dean took his hand back and the duo looked at one another nervously, and Dean realized that this was the first time him and Cas had actually _seen_ each other.

It felt like their first time, but it wasn’t, which Dean kind of regretted.

Cas was the first one to make a move, leaning in and planting one on Dean’s lips, pulling him in flush against his own body. Dean stepped forward and Cas had to bend his back to be able to reach Dean’s mouth with his own. Then he pulled away.

“Wha—?” Dean mumbled stupidly.

“Dean, don’t you think that migrating our—” Cas used a hand to motion towards their crotches brushing against one another, “—towards an actual bed would be a huge leap of faith?”

“Yeah, but we’re dating now, and I trust you. So what the hell?” Dean shrugged and leaned in to kiss Cas again.

Cas felt the back of knees hit the bed and he fell backwards, Dean crawling on after him with surprising confidence.

“You know, now that I think about it, you didn’t tell me anything about yourself, babe.” Dean knocked his chin against Cas’ growing erection.

“Then what was the purpose of our da— _Oh, Dean_.” Cas gasped when Dean tongued the slit of his dick.

“Well, now you taste like my favorite food in the world, which is a huge plus.” Dean reached up and licked into Cas’ mouth, tasting faintly of cheeseburger and Cas’ spunk. “Well, actually pie is, but you wouldn’t let me have any, so I’m rooting for cheeseburgers right now.” Dean continued. “See? We’re learning more and more about each other, Cas. This just isn’t how I really pictured doing it.”

“You sound disappointed.” Cas gasped, wiggling his hips and shivering when Dean licked a stripe up his cock.

“I don’t feel disappointed.”

“Good. Please continue.”

“Where’s your roommate? The blonde dude I saw earlier.” Dean kissed a trail up Cas’ thigh, then up his stomach and chest, sucking a bruise into his skin before nosing his face in the warmth of Cas’ neck.

“Balthazar—Jesus, Dean—” Dean licked the soft spot behind Cas’ ear and the boy squirmed, “—is probably out playing Cards Against Humanity with the rest of the so-called ‘alpha nerds’.”

“You’re an alpha nerd.” Dean pointed out and smirked. He leaned on his elbows and gripped Cas’ hands on either side of the blue eyed boy’s head.

“Yes, but the difference between me and them is that I actually managed to score a date.” Cas laughed.

Dean tilted his head, considering that. “Touché.” He said finally, tucking his head and kissing Cas again. “And who’s this guy you scored a date with, again? Remind me ‘cos I might wanna hit him up later.” Cas laughed again and sighed happily.

“Ah, I don’t remember. Winchester, if I recall correctly? He’s has brown glasses, green eyes, and a ’67 Impala.”

“Oh, really?” Dean leaned back.

“Yes, and he’s also very attractive and eye pleasing.”

“That—that almost sounds like me!” Dean exclaimed and kissed a laugh into Cas’ mouth.

“And he’s _great_ in bed. Well, as far as I can tell.”

“Fuck. Then I just have to compete with him. But everyone knows who’s really boss here.” Dean said smugly, pointed his thumb towards himself and flexing his bicep, waggling his eyebrows at the same time. Cas fell into a fit of giggles and turned his head to muffle the sounds into his pillow. Dean kissed his temple, both somehow tucked snugly beneath the covers, and Cas thought it was probably the most intimate they’ve ever been since they first met, despite his dick being in Dean’s mouth just moments before.

Sure, Dean had pleasured him many times before, but those were just quickies that lasted five minutes top—and in public. It’s hard to drag out pleasure when you’ve got one eye on the clock and ears open to keep watch for people rounding the corner.

Maybe Dean could be the person Cas brought home during holidays, or the one who brought him soup when he grew ill.

“Cas?” Dean nosed his hair. “You didn’t fall asleep on me, did you? ‘Cos I know I’m bad, but I’m not _that_ bad.”

 _No, you’re fucking great,_ Cas wanted to say. “No, I’m just thinking.” He muttered instead and faced towards Dean, who was hovering above him, grinning.

"Okay." Dean kissed him again, and it was slow and sweet this time as he learned how to map out Cas’ mouth with his tongue, like trying to memorize it for a test. Cas sighed into the kiss and—

"No no no no. God my eyes." Cas didn't hear Balthazar's dress shoes that sound too much like heels when he walks around in them, much less the door even opening. 

"For Christ's sake, Cassie, put a damn sock on the knob when you're—" he gestured to the duo, who were still wrapped up in one another, Dean breathing heavily against Cas’ cheek. Balthazar was carrying a bucket of ice in his hands, still in his silk pajama pants. 

"Apologies." Cas squeaked. 

"I'll be—" Balthazar pointed to the right with his free hand, "—down the hall at Chuck's." He closed the door and left. Then Dean looked at Cas and chuckled, which turned into a fit of laughter that had them both gasping for air.  

Then Cas tried to put on his serious face, and Dean mimicked him, pursing his lips. Cas resisted the urge to laugh again. 

"Dean Winchester, you have five minutes to get your shit together." Cas growled and Dean smirked, licking down Cas’ stomach again, loving the way Cas moaned at his unshaven stubble dragging across the sensitive skin. 

"Is that a challenge? 'Cos I can stretch it to twenty." Dean looked up. 

"Is _that_ a challenge?" Cas raised his eyebrows, staring back at Dean. 

Dean didn't say anything but crawled back under the covers so Cas couldn't see him, but the boy felt two strong hands on his thighs. Dean licked his way down, tucking his face into the space between Cas’ groin and leg and flicked his tongue over the groove between Cas’ balls, eliciting a breathy and desperate moan from above.

Dean fought the urge to grind into the bed, where his painfully erect dick was trapped between his stomach and the bed. Dean bit the inside of Cas’ thigh, and Cas writhed below him, pleading for Dean to just suck him off. 

"Geez, Cas, don't you want me to take my time?" Dean heard ruffling against the pillow as Cas shook his head. He chuckled. "I don't even put out on the first dates, Cas. Look what you did to me, you bastard."

"Apologies," Cas squeaked, and Dean gave himself another minute of nosing the soft spots of Cas’ groin before he peeked out from under covers. Cas was gripping the sheets tight, cock leaking pearly drops of precome from the tip onto his flat stomach, and worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, something Dean recognized Cas did when he was close. He used a hand to reach up and squeeze the bud of Cas’ nipple; it went hard instantly under his finger tips and Dean had to bite back a moan from escaping. This was Cas' night. He was supposed to pleasure Cas. 

"Dean, _please_." Cas begged, voice wrecked, tossing his head from side to side, dark hair splayed across his forehead.

"Okay." Dean dug his nose into Cas’ hip, inhaling the smell of cheap soap and sex and a hint of honey. "But only 'cos you said please." 

Dean pushed up and leveled himself to Cas’ stomach, catching the tip of Cas’ cock between his lips, swirling his tongue around, giving soft, tentative licking and sucking, loving the salty and bitter taste of Cas.

Cas moaned, deep and throaty, thrusting his hips up, and if Dean wasn't already leaning back, he would have gagged. Then Cas' cock was buried deep in Dean's throat again, and he hummed around it, making sure Cas could feel him. Dean slipped off, giving himself a few seconds of grinding his dick on Cas' leg, trying to relieve himself of pressure. 

Cas looked down at him, eyes half lidded and dark, chapped lower lip bitten to the point of bleeding, and Dean reached up to kiss him, soothing his tongue over Cas' trembling lips, making them soft and wet again. 

Cas was struggling not to come as Dean carefully repositioned his lips around the head and swallowed him in one go. Cas let out a lewd shout, knocking his head back into the pillow. His hands fisted in Dean's strands of hair and tugged harshly.

Hot, wet, tight muscles of Dean's throat clenching around his length, and Cas looked down to see his cock sliding out of Dean's mouth when he took a breath, then gasping when those lips wrapped around his tip again, cheeks hallowing, and Cas could feel exactly where Dean's tongue was moving against his skin. Dean's fingers trailed down to his balls to massage them between his fingers, and Dean felt how tightly stretched they were, just how close Cas was to losing the battle against want and need. 

It took Dean a few seconds to realize Cas was pulling him up. Dean pulled off his dick with a pop, spit following his mouth. Dean moved up the mattress, shuddering when his cock slid across Cas’ own, and Cas reached down to lick Dean's lips, tasting himself and tasting salt from the fries on Dean's mouth. 

"Come with me." Cas said breathlessly when they pulled apart, pupils dilated and almost black, and Dean nodded once before wrapping a hand around him and Cas, pumping slowly and trying to find a rhythm good enough for the both of them, savoring every moment. 

But Cas was active as hell, fucking into Dean's fist faster, making little grunts and breathless noises that brought Dean closer and closer to the edge. Dean rolled his hips against Cas’, trying to meet his demands, pleasure spiraling higher and higher just out of reach. 

" _Dean_." Cas moaned, almost a whisper, as Dean's hand moved up and down their shafts, precome making everything a smooth and slick motion. Dean was too focused on Cas’ face and the noises he could pull out of him, he almost didn't notice his orgasm ripping out through him, reaching toward every part of his body with a jolt, and he pumped faster, trying to ride out the high like a tidal wave. Dean didn’t even have time to catch his breath when he felt sweaty hands on his face and he looked up.

“Kiss me.” Cas mouthed, and Dean leaned in, sealing their lips, feeling Cas' hips stutter and back arch beneath him as Cas reached his climax. Warmth pooled out between Dean's fingers from where he was still holding them, and he collapsed on top of Cas, whose chest heaved up and down, not giving a damn about the mess across his chest. 

The duo lay there for what seemed like hours, exchanging small, sweet kisses, trying to calm their breaths and making no move to stand and wipe themselves. Then Dean whispered, "That was fun," and Cas threw out a laugh that danced through the dark room and made Dean smile as he wrapped his arms around Cas’ waist, pulling him in closer and tucking his head beneath Cas' chin. 

As Dean lay there, head moving up and down on Cas' chest to the beat of his breathing and holding Cas tighter, intertwining their fingers as they drifted off to sleep, Dean thought he might just be falling in love with this boy. 

* * *

And if you happened to pass by Castiel's dorm at exactly 9:56 on a Friday night in late March, you would find one blonde roommate in silk pajamas sitting outside, cradling a melting ice bucket and begging to be let in. 


	6. Easter Ficlet

There was a plastic egg on his pillow in front of his face when Dean woke up. It was blue, with three pink stripes running horizontally around it. His mind fell to Sam, who had more girl in his eighteen, six-four figure than Jo, but Dean remembered that he's not at home and Sam isn't even in college yet.

His second guess went to his roommate Benny, and Dean's head was in that faze where everything was still pleasantly fuzzy and nothing made sense, so it took him a few seconds to realize Benny might be more manly than Schwarzenegger and didn't have time for friggin' arts and crafts.

Jo wasn't allowed in Dean's dorm anymore ever since she used his spare key to toilet paper his furniture last Halloween and he still held a grudge against it. Plus Jo would kill herself before admitting to decorating an Easter egg.

Maybe it was Cas. Dean smiled into his fort of blankets even though it was 70 degrees outside, blindly groping his pillow for the egg. He squeezed the sides and it popped open, confetti and glitter exploding all over the bed. Dean sneezed.

He ignored the mess and dumped his sheets on the floor, swinging his legs over the edge of the mattress, stretching his arms over his head and arching his back until he heard and felt a satisfied pop. The ceiling was blurry and he slipped on his glasses. Dean glanced down towards his feet, where the slight hill in his boxers told him he needs to get to Cas' pronto to fix it.

But Cas is at Easter Sunday church, Dean reminded himself. He looked over to the alarm clock on his night stand and calculated the time until Cas got back. It was 9 in the morning, which gave Dean just over an hour and a half to drive to Walmart, which he knew was open today because it's friggin' Walmart, buy as many of those mini chocolate Easter eggs, and plant them all over Cas' room.

One problem Dean's sleep drunk brain failed to mention: he couldn't get into Cas' dorm without a key.

There was no way Balthazar was going to let him in. That's a damn true fact right there. The guy your roommate was fooling around with and who you saw practically naked was not getting any mercy. Plus leaving Balthazar to sleep in the hallway, since he walked in on Chuck and Becky getting it on after interrupting Dean and Cas' date night, wasn't going to give Dean any brownie points either. And Dean should have thought about that and gone back to sleep.

But he didn't.

So there Dean was, standing in front of Balthazar with a plastic bag full of chocolate eggs in his two hands, glasses crooked from sprinting up the stairs because, Dean checked his watch, and oh, wow, he had only 10 minutes. He really should have skipped the warm shower.

"Please."

"No, you idiot. Do you know how many insects you'll attract?"

Dean shifted his weight to his left foot. "I'm majoring in entomology. Chocolate doesn't attract insects." He lied.

"Cassie told me you were studying engineering." Balthazar leaned against the wooden frame of the door, narrowing his eyes. "And what part of 'no' escapes your understanding?"

"Fine. I'll just wait till Cas gets here and we'll have sex on the carpet. With the chocolate." Dean shrugged and walked away slowly. He smiled when Balthazar grabbed his shoulder harshly and turned him back around.

"Screw you, you imbecile." Cas' roommate muttered before leaving an opening between him and the doorway. Dean smirked and waltzed on in, feeling like a million bucks, but not really since he was a poor college student just like everyone else and could barely pay for the chocolates, let alone gas for his Baby.

Balthazar mumbled something about getting air fresheners and Febreze and a sleeping bag before slamming the door shut and leaving Dean alone with the chocolate.

Dean tore open the cardboard box, grabbed a handful of the small eggs, and placed one under Cas' pillow, a few in his drawer, one in pot of the dead potted strawberry plant Cas always forgot to water, one in his folder, his textbook (it smushed between the pages and Dean made a mental note to tell Cas about that later), chair, window sill, backpack, next to his toothbrush, beside the bar of soap, everywhere until the box of Easter mini chocolate eggs was empty and Dean kicked the box under Balthazar's bed.

Dean looked around the room, puffing his chest out proudly, then wretched open the dorm door and ran straight into Cas, who was bent over the knob with his key in his hand. Cas lost his balance and fell over when Dean's stomach hit the top of his head and he went down with an oomph noise.

"Dean." Cas looked up at him from the floor.

"Hiya, babe." Dean smiled at Cas' beige sweater that looked about two sizes too big and went past his hands. He held a hand out and Cas took it, pulling himself up and reddening.

"Wha—what were you doing in my dorm?"

"Uh," Dean pulled out the blue plastic egg from his pocket, which was a little bent. "Did you do this?" He asked.

Cas gave a shy smile and looked down so his dark hair was covering his blushing face. "I might have had time on my hands." Cas shuffled said hands nervously and looked up.

"I like it." Dean said and leaned it to kiss him.

"You taste faintly of chocolate." Cas commented when they pulled apart.

"I snacked on your present. C'mon." Dean took his hand and pulled Cas into the dorm. "Find the eggs." He pushed Cas into the middle of the room.

"What?" Cas turned to look at Dean, squinting his eyes and tilting his head to the side.

"Just—do it. It's an Easter egg hunt. Of chocolate."

Cas spotted the first chocolate egg Dean taped to the back of the door. Then the ones in the bathroom. Then the one in his shoe. Then the one snuggled in the dry dirt of his plant. Then the one balanced at the top of the bulb in his lamp. Everytime Cas found an egg, he unwrapped it and popped it into his mouth, seemingly immune to stomach aches.

Dean never got tired of staring at Cas' ass as the blue eyed boy ran around the room looking for hidden eggs. It reminded him of seeing Cas run around the library putting books up on the first day, how the hem of his sweater rose up and peaked out pale skin when Cas reached up to the top shelf, how his hair was sticking out in odd places like he just rolled out of bed, how his fingers—

"It's not nice to stare, Dean." Cas said suddenly, interrupting his thoughts.

"You just look—kind of sexy. Reminds me of when I saw you at the library for the first time." Dean answered, appreciating the shade of crimson traveling fast up Cas' neck, ears, cheeks.

"In that case, you may continue...admiring me."

"I'm sure I can admire you in other ways." Dean suggested, and with that they fell onto Cas' bed, laughing and kissing chocolate out of each other's mouths.

* * *

 

Balthazar stood in the aisle at Walmart, trying choose between Hawaiian Aloha Air or Spring & Renewal Air, when his phone rang. He put the Febreze air fresheners back on the shelf and slid his finger over 'slide to answer' on his phone, then put up to his ear. 

"Hello?" 

The only sounds that came out of the receiver were gasps and moans. 

"Bloody hell, those randy arses!" Balthazar looked at his phone then put it back to his ear, trying to ignore the dirty noises. "Cassie, if you butt dial me one more time, I'm going to shove this air freshener up your arse so far, you'll be farting Meadow Air for a year!"


	7. Chapter 7

A fat ‘D’ was printed in red at the top of his English exam, followed by a ‘See me after class in my office’, when Professor Singer handed it back to Castiel at the end of Tuesday’s lecture. _Fuck_ , he sighed softly. Castiel needed at least a 3.5 GPA to maintain his scholarship and the only D he was wanted was—

Someone nudged Castiel’s back with their knee, and he looked behind his shoulder to where Dean was sitting in the row above him, holding his paper up in a way so that it was facing Castiel. A pretty ‘A’ sat in an unequal circle drawn at the top of his paper and Dean gave Castiel a proud, lopsided grin above his exam sheet, peaking over Castiel’s head to see his grade. Dean frowned, then shrugged when he spotted the fourth letter of the alphabet making an grand appearance on Castiel’s paper.

“It’s not that bad, sugar pie.” Dean whispered, winking. Castiel blushed furiously and quickly broke eye contact with Dean, folding his test in half before shoving it into his book bag, because there was no reason to sport a goddamn hard on, in class if Castiel may add, if Singer might offer him extra work to do after.

“It dropped my GPA, Dea—honey bunch.” Castiel answered haughtily.

Ever since their “first date”, Dean had shown his affection for pet names, knowing it made Castiel blush every time Dean called him ‘Blossom butt’, ‘Eyecandy’, ‘Jelly Bean’, ‘Love bug’, or ‘Pudding’ (Dean spent almost two hours going down a list alphabetically while Castiel studied for the very test he almost failed), and Dean liked making Castiel red. Even now, two and a half weeks after their “first date”, Dean kept saying how he never had sex on the first date, and that Castiel was special to have gotten him in bed—without dessert. Castiel felt proud for that.

“It has come to my attention,” Professor Singer was saying at his podium made entirely of car parts, “that all you idjits don’t know how to study for a damned test.” Castiel looked around the room and noted many ‘F’s’ on his classmates papers, suddenly feeling proud of himself for getting a ‘D’.

“What is this, Canada? English was your first language, you idiots.” Singer rolled his eyes.

“Actually, Canada is an English-speaking country, Prof—”

“I vas raised een France, _Professeur_.”

“And how hard is it to just open an English B book and study that crap? It ain’t rocket science.” Singer continued, ignoring them. “Story of my damned life.” He sighed.

“It’s difficult to find a textbook that consists of all the material we covered in this class.” Someone called out.

“Then go to the damned library and search for one! What is this, a freakin’ scavenger hunt? I wasn’t aware my class was full of kindergarteners.” Singer threw his hands up in exasperation. Dean coughed and let his arm fall on the desk, fingers drooping over the edge, where they idly found their way into Castiel’s hair, lazily twirling the dark strands.

“We could do some searching, Cas.” Dean mumbled, tugging his hair lightly.

“I don’t have time for this. I gotta go home and get packing for the damn apocalypse you kids are gonna start with your stupidness.” Singer paced back and forth at the front of the room before speaking. “I’m assigning mandatory extra credit. It’s National Poetry Month so write a poem, no more than 200 words. Write it with a partner, write it by yourself, I don’t give a damn. Hand it in by Wednesday. I’ll boost your grade up by a letter. This goes for all you A-er’s too. That means you, Winchester.”

Castiel felt the hand slip from his head when Dean raised his arms as if he was saying, _I didn’t do anything!_ There was a faint buzzing sound that traveled through the room.

“Yeah, yeah, quit your future bitchin’. And what do I get out of giving you EC? Jack with a side of squat. Don’t look at me like that. And, oh! If you have a ‘See me after class’ on your paper, don’t bother. Class dismissed.”

* * *

“We could write one praising your cock. Or I could write it if you’d like.”

Dean ruffled Cas’ hair as he passed by the boy sitting on the floor with his legs bent yoga style, a used English textbook resting on his thighs and bent English exam in one hand. Dean’s own test was on the floor next to him.

“I don’t understand how number three is wrong.” Castiel muttered, flipping through the book and skimming his eyes over a page before turning to another. Dean grabbed his test, reading the answer out loud.

“Numero tres. ‘In the excerpt shown above, the writer uses a simile to compare sunflowers to humankind and their desire for eternal life.’ There, that’s the answer, sugar pie. Now about the poem…”

“Dean—” Cas started just as Dean’s phone rang and “Baby Got Back” sounded through the room. Dean reddened.

“Son of a bitch. I’m gonna kill him.” Dean muttered, sliding his phone out of his pocket and he hurried to answer it. “Hey, bitch. Good to hear from you. ‘Was starting to think you forgot all about your big bro.”

“ _Of course not, jerk._ ” Answered Sam on the other end of the line. “ _How’s the college life? We haven’t talked since spring break. It’s not the same without you at home. You get any exams? It’s already April.”_ Sam's sentences were choppy, something he did when he was happy, given the chance to finally talk to his older brother. 

”Yeah, surprisingly, I got an A on my first one. One down, like eleven to go? Dunno. Lost count.” Dean looked over to Cas, who was staring at a brown stain in the middle of his textbook with a confused expression on his face. Dean suppressed the urge to smile when he remembered their Easter together.

 _“You’re actually doing well in school. I’m proud_.” There was a shuffle and Sam paused. _“Dad says he’s proud too, Dean.”_

“You’re always proud of me, you freak.” Dean ignored the comment made by his father, and turned to walk towards the window. A group of eight was sitting outside on the grass, singing, a few with tambourines and one with a guitar.

“ _True._ ” He could hear Sam smiling through the phone. “ _So, you’re doing okay?_ _How’re you holding up?_ ”

“Dude, honestly, all this studying is making my brain shrink like a dick on steroids.”

“ _That’s—ironic, seeing that obtaining more knowledge should only make your brain strength gro—_ ”

“Whatever, Sammy. See? Nothing’s changed. You’re still the smartass in the family.”

“ _I’m just saying you’ve been so focused lately. I mean, since you obviously can’t visit Dad and I whenever you want to anymore ‘cos of your schedule, and I can’t believe I’m actually saying this, but you should go out, make new friends and ‘get some’ or something._ ” Sam sighed, a sound between disappointment and hope.

“Hey, I get some ‘some’ all the time.” Cas snorted from somewhere behind Dean.

“ _Really. When’s the last time you got laid, Dean? Spare the details._ ”

Dean glanced over at Cas again, who was still bent over the textbook and furiously turning pages. “Two days ago.” He answered.

“ _Liar_.”

“You can actually talk to him right now if you don’t believe me.” Cas looked up and an expression of panic crossed his face. Dean used a hand motion to signalize that he was joking by angling his fingers towards his neck and shaking his hand.

“ _Him?”_

“Yeah, his name’s Cas.”

“ _Wow. Are you guys, like,_ together _together? Like boyfriends?”_ Dean could practically see his little brother giving him a toothy grin and jumping up and down like the six-four fangirl he is.

“Uh, honestly, I never really thought about it.”

“ _Why not?”_ Sam pressed.

“I don’t know. Just never did.”

“ _Why not?”_ He asked again.

“Man, what did I say about the chick flick moments? This whole thing with him—it’s, uh, complicated. That’s all.” Dean closed his eyes, squeezing the bridge of his nose. He didn’t acknowledge Cas cocking his head to the side when he said that.

" _Then un-_ _complicate it, Dean! I mean, I don’t know the guy, but you like him and he likes you, I'm assuming, and from what you said before, it sounds like you guys already have se—_ ”

“Finish that sentence and I will visit you right now and shave your head.”

“— _sets of tasks to accomplish, of course._ ” Sam finished, laughing nervously. " _So, uh, you need any help_ _with those tasks? You know, I still can't believe you made me do your homework when you went to Lawrence High—”_

“Actually, yeah, I do have stuff. I’m glad you asked. Thank you, Sammy.” Dean interrupted sarcastically.  

Sam huffed.

"Anyway, me and Cas—"

" _Cas and I."_

"Shut up. We gotta write a poem as EC for Singer’s—”

“ _Bobby?_ ”

“—yeah. And we need topic ideas.”

“ _Uh, let me check Yahoo answers…_ ”

“Dude, I could’ve done that.” Dean heard his brother set the phone down, and then the clack of typing keys replaced the silence.

“ _But you didn’t. Okay, uh, feelings, nature, songs, war, love, peace, laughter, trees, technology, snow, spring, summer, winter, fall, the months, weeks, days, years, et cetera._ ” Sam rattled off. “ _I mean there’s a whole list of things to write about. Just find something you like, like this ‘Cas’ guy, for example.”_

“Alright. Thanks. I’ll look into it later. I gotta go, Sammy. I’ll talk to you later, okay? Love you.”

“ _You too_. _Bye, Dean_.”

Dean pressed the end button on his phone and threw it on Cas’ bed. It was good talking to Sam, and Dean felt twinge of a guilt hovering in his chest when he ended the call so abruptly, but Dean really, really wanted to spend time with Cas. And besides, Sam wasn’t going anywhere.

“I see you’ve made good use of the bean bag chair I got you.” Dean motioned to the lump of red in the corner where it remained untouched. “You know, it’s not just for decoration, Cas.”

When Cas didn’t say anything, Dean nodded once and reached over to his bag, dumping the contents out and searching through them until he found what he was looking for. He opened his laptop and waited for it to boot up before turning back to Cas.

“Hercules.” Dean announced, holding a DVD up. Cas looked up with a quizzical face.

“I sense that 'exam review' isn’t the right answer here, seeing as the disk isn't of literary format." He went back to reading the textbook and Dean reached over, kicking it closed with his foot. Cas sighed.

“Remember when we first met?” Dean rubbed his socked toe over Cas’ thigh, waving the DVD high in the air and raising his eyebrows.

“It’s not exactly difficult to forget.” Cas smiled up at him and Dean ruffled his dark hair with his free hand.

“Aw, look what you’ve done to me. Okay, okay, so Hercules. The movie. You. Watch. Now.” Dean took the disk out and tossed the empty DVD container to Cas and the boy held it in his hands expectantly.

“Why?”

“Because nothing beats sassy gospel singers and sassy Hades.”

“Dean.”

“I’m serious, Cas.” Dean bent down to plant a chaste kiss on Castiel’s lips before walking over to his laptop and popping the disk in.

“As am I, but I have a mythology test next week that I must study for. I don’t have time for a movie.”

“Cas, if you wanted to study, you’d be doing that already and ignoring me.” Dean said absently, back half turned to Cas.

“Well, you _are_ very hard to resist.”

“Thanks, babe.” Dean gave him a thumbs up from behind his back. “And besides, this _is_ studying for mythology. You know, gods and such.”

“And such?”

“Well, all the characters are pretty badass, especially Meg.” Dean put an arm around Cas and clicked ‘Main Menu’ when the DVD loaded.

“Dean, this is animated. I didn’t think you seemed like the type…” Cas trailed off, leaning onto Dean’s shoulder and shifting until he was comfortable.

“What can I say? I’m a sucker for Disney movies.”

* * *

An hour and a half later finds Dean dozed off, glasses crooked and head somehow resting on Castiel’s lap while Castiel carded his fingers through Dean’s hair. The hem of Dean's shirt was rolled up, showing a bit of soft skin, and Castiel poked at the spot. The end credits were rolling  down the laptop screen, soft music playing in the background, and Castiel just couldn’t bring himself to wake Dean even though his leg was turning numb and he was in need of a piss.

So Castiel decided to do what anyone as as lucky as him would do. He reached down and pressed his lips to Dean’s own, mouth moving slowly at first, until Dean’s lips became soft, damp, and pliant beneath Castiel’s own. The rim of Dean's glasses brushed his chin as Castiel flicked his tongue out, tasting, exploring every inch of Dean’s face that he spent so much time memorizing.

Dean continued to sleep soundly, hot puffs of breath touching Castiel’s lips when he kept kissing Dean, and then Castiel’s kisses became more frantic, hands reaching out to hold Dean’s face and pull him closer like he was afraid of losing Dean or afraid of not meeting Dean's expectations anymore. It scared Castiel to think that someday Dean might get bored and uninterested of him, and then Castiel found himself wrapping Dean up in a hug. He felt Dean smile against his hair.

“I’m not going anywhere, Cas.” Dean said groggily, turning his face and pressing a kiss to Castiel’s forehead. “I’m your Hercules, remember that, okay?” Castiel nodded. “Also, remember that I’m a strong and feisty badass motherfucker.” Dean chuckled.

Castiel snorted and summarily dumped Dean off his lap, reaching for a stranded cushion on the floor while Dean fell into a fit of laughter. He yelped when Castiel smacked his stomach with a pillow and Dean pulled Castiel down to the carpet with him, planting a noisy kiss on Castiel’s lips. Castiel crinkled his nose and heaved off of Dean, ignoring Dean’s protests when he stood up and stomped over to the bathroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Removed poem.


	8. Chapter 8

**1\. Son of Clio and Pierus and lover of the god Apollo, which divine hero and Spartan prince of Greek Mythology was struck by a discus carried in the wind by Zephyrus out of jealously?**

_What in the ever living fuck?_ Castiel stared at the question. Reread it once, twice, then scribbled down _Thamyris_ on the blank line. He didn’t remember reading anything about Greek Mythology, let alone Zephyrus or Apollo, in any of his textbooks. He was too busy—

Oh, that’s right. Maybe it might have been a bad idea to let Dean distract him with kisses last night while Castiel was studying.

**2\. Which 49 sisters of Greek mythology killed their husbands on their wedding night and are condemned to carry water in a sieve for all eternity?**

The blank line beneath the question seemed to stare back at him with the same dumbfounded expression displayed on Castiel’s own face.

Curse professors for not believing in the lovely concept of multiple choice. At least then Castiel would have had a 20% chance (because A, B, C, and D aren’t good enough, E came into the equation, but Castiel would take what he gets) of getting _something_ right. If he somehow passed this exam, Castiel would bow down and kiss the hell out of whichever ancestor, bless them, was watching over him.

Castiel looked up towards the ceiling, racking through his tired brain (taking a morning course that started at 7 and cramming for the final until four in the morning was probably the worst idea Castiel ever had) for anything that would help him. He was desperate at this point, just needing to fill in any answer, and he was only on question two. Pathetic.

Professor Barnes (or Pamela, as she prefers) passed by his desk as she circled the classroom making sure everyone’s eyes were on their own papers. Castiel covered his exam with an arm, hoping Pamela wouldn’t see how stupid he was for not knowing who Apollo’s dead, gay lover was.

Who was Castiel kidding? Mythology was the easiest class he signed up for. He paid for the course with his own money, refusing to take anything from Gabriel, not wanting to be in his debt, and now Castiel was on the brink of failing the class and losing the three credits hours he needed to graduate the semester.

 _Summer courses aren’t an opinion with a full time job at Gabriel’s club_ , Castiel told question number five— **Hera took which Oread’s (type of nymph residing in the mountains) voice and replaced it with the repetition of others’ voices?**

 _Think happy thoughts, Castiel_ , said question eight— **Which Roman god within the Dii Consentes is the patron god of finance, commerce/trade, and communication?**

Castiel didn’t even know what the fuck _Dii Consentes_ was. As far as he knew, the phrase could have meant "Team Free Will" or "The Breakfast Club" and he would have never known. He thoroughly searched every inch of his skull, mind drifting over to Dean, like it always seemed to end up after Castiel felt like he worked his brain too hard.

He remembered fondly of Dean bringing him a steaming hot cup of coffee the night before.

_Balthazar was out at Luc’s dorm, cramming for both PSYCH and sociology finals, which, unfortunately for him, were in the same week. Dean’s next exam didn’t happen until a week and a half later, so he was casually sitting around on the floor of Castiel’s dorm, making sure Castiel was comfortable at his desk (“You got enough light, Cas? I think Benny has an extra sharpener. If the chair’s too uncomfortable, there’s another special seat called my lap.”), and occasionally making coffee runs for the both of them._

_“Winchester special.” Dean took the pencil out of Castiel’s hand, brushing back his dark hair and pushing a mug into his hands. “Lots of sugar. And cream. Just how you like it. Which I still find unethical. I mean, if you’re gonna have coffee, at least drink it without all the, uh, ” Dean waved his hand in the air and sat down on the bean bag next to Castiel’s feet, “artificial flavoring. Then it’s not coffee anymore. It’s just ground beans mixed with sugar.”_

_“Well, I enjoy ground beans mixed with sugar.” Castiel retorted, taking a sip from the porcelain mug. The coffee traveled, more sweet than bitter, across his tongue, just how he appreciated it. “How’d you know I prefer it this way?”_

_“I—observe. With my eyes.” Dean said lamely, leaning back to check the clock on the night table— 12:51am. He ran his socked foot over Castiel’s leg as the boy went back to reading through his notes and textbook with sleepy eyes. “Drink up, asshat.” Dean laughed. Castiel grunted, but took another sip._

_Castiel was vaguely aware of Dean shifting on the floor, silently begging for attention with the actions of his lips. He didn’t stop Dean from kissing his neck, sucking dark hickeys that Castiel knew would be questionable to the person sitting in the row behind him tomorrow. When Dean became a little too handsy though, thumbs finding their way below the elastic of Castiel’s boxers and rubbing circles there, Castiel grabbed his hands and pushed them away lightly._

_“Dean, I need you to let me concentrate.”_

_“I’m not doing anything, jelly bean.” He answered with fake modesty, blinking slowly up at Castiel from the floor. Dean reached up again, brushing his thumb along Castiel’s coffee covered lip and the boy’s breath hitched._

_“Of course you’re not.” Castiel breathed against the pad of his thumb. “Go someplace else, Dean.”_

_“I don’t feel like it.” Dean pouted._

_“You are a child.” Castiel scolded, turning his face away and nosing his foot into Dean’s soft stomach._

_“But I’m awesome.” Dean held a hand up and Castiel snorted. “What, no high five for being awesome?”_

_Castiel stuck his tongue out and Dean rose up on his knees, placing both hands on Castiel’s thighs and leaning forward, poking the tip of his tongue to Castiel’s own. Castiel’s eyes fluttered shut._

_“That’s not the high five I assume you meant.” He murmured._

_“Don’t care.” Dean mumbled, threading his fingers through Castiel’s overgrown hair and kissing him. Dean tasted like bitter black coffee, and it was wonderful._

_“You shaved.” Castiel commented, pulling back. He traced his fingers over Dean’s jaw._

_“I did. Just to annoy you, babe.” Dean smirked and pressed his lips to Castiel’s again. He scrunched his nose._

_“You are very aggravating, you know that?”_

_“I think I’m adorable.”_

_“Of course,” Castiel continued, ignoring Dean’s last comment, “that_ is _a primary aspect of your personality,” Dean licked into his mouth, “so I sometimes choose to ignore it—Dean what are you doing?”_

_“Come to bed.” Dean whispered throatily into his ear, closing the textbook with a hand and using the other to massage Castiel’s thigh._

_“I can’t.” Castiel squirmed, using an unbearable amount of strength to push Dean’s hand away. “I have work to do and an exam tomorrow morning—or later today, given that it’s already one in the morning.”_

_“_ All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy _.” Dean clicked his tongue and paused. “Fine. I’ll just have to do my work here with you then, Cas.”_

_“Your next exam isn’t until…” Castiel trailed off, watching Dean crawl under the desk on his knees and part Castiel’s legs. He spread them willingly to accommodate Dean kneeling between them and Castiel blushed when Dean looked up at him tiredly, a half smile dancing on his face, before nuzzling his nose in Castiel’s crotch._

_“Dean.”_

_“Hm?” Dean mouthed at his dick through the thin layer of boxers and Castiel gasped. Damn him._

_“De—Dean. Stop it. Let me take the test tomorrow and then I’ll let you suck me off.”_

_“Bossy.” Dean answered, but clambered out from under the desk. He pressed a chaste kiss to Castiel’s temple before plopping down promptly on Castiel’s bed. “Don’t stay up too late, Cas.” He murmured, pulling the covers up and falling asleep within seconds. The last thing Castiel remembered that night was crawling beneath the sheets with Dean.  
_

The loud buzzer of the bell signaling the end of class rang through the room, snapping Castiel out of his thoughts.

“Time’s up. Writing utensils down.” Pamela announced, taking tests from tired students who all reeked of coffee, and from an especially grumpy blue eyed boy. Castiel slung his bag over one shoulder and headed towards the library to get a head start on his four hour shift.

* * *

Dean woke up alone, two identical, empty coffee mugs and a pair of glasses staring back at him. The cups left brown rings on the desk when he picked them up to rinse them out and brush his teeth (Dean was finally able to convince Cas to let him keep a spare toothbrush in his bathroom when he decided to spend the night—which he did, a lot actually). Dean would have stayed in Cas’ dorm to meet him there after Cas’ mythology class ended, but ran into a very pissed off Balthazar while refilling the ice bucket, and Castiel’s roommate was in no mood to negotiate with Dean whether or not he was allowed to come back into the room.

So Dean stood desperately outside Cas’ dorm room, waiting for him to come back, and feeling suspiciously like Balthazar from that night that seemed forever ago with Cas. Huh. Time really did seem to fly when you’re in love.

Wait, what?

Woah, woah. This was Dean Winchester, who swore he would never fall in love. The rule was simple: go to college, get a degree, get a job, help Sam get through college.

But, _Cas._

* * *

Cas didn’t come back to his dorm room, which Dean found out the hard way by standing up for an hour and half straight like an idiot. Cas had also managed to leave his phone still plugged into the charger, so calling him wasn’t an option.

There was only one place Dean knew Cas would be, like the little nerd he was.

Dean practically ran to the library, and was friggin’ relieved to see Cas’ name on the sign-in sheet. He waved to the creepy old lady librarian who gave him a confused look and grim smile before returning to her computer, perfectly manicured fingers flying over the keyboard.

Dean found Cas behind the bookshelves, flipping through a mythology textbook, the same one Dean recognized he was reading when they first met. Cas was leaning on a cart piled high with books of all sorts, an oversized hoodie wrapping around his slim figure. Dean stared at Cas bent over in the dim light, liking the way his lip curled up when Cas concentrated hard enough on what he was reading.

Dean coughed. Castiel looked up.

“Hey, Cas.”

“Hello, Dean.”

“What, uh, what you doin’?” Dean rubbed the back of his neck, not bothering to walk across the distance of ten feet between them.

“Looking up my incorrect answers. Did you know Dii Consentes consisted of twelve major deities, six gods and six goddesses?”

“Uh, no. How many’d you get wrong?” Dean took a step forward.

“Twelve and counting.” Castiel muttered, looking back to the book and turning to the next section.

“Well, that’s not terribly bad. How many questions did you check so far?”

“Thirteen.”

“Holy fuck, Cas. Which one was the lucky break? I’m gonna buy that one a drink.”

“The one about Aphrodite.”

“That’s ironic. I remember you saying she was a witch, which I know now that she’s not. Totally not a witch. Go anthro, right?” Dean fist pumped the air and took two steps forward, maneuvering himself until Cas was pressed a tight line down his side. He looked down to the textbook: _Apollo_.

“If I recall correctly, you said that, Dean.” Cas smiled at him.

“Did I? Well, fuck. Maybe a kiss will jog my memory, babe.” Dean tilted his head to the right and Cas caught his lips in a quick kiss.

“Dean, I am going to get fired if I don’t, and I quote, ‘Move your ass, Novak. College don’t pay you to study.’”

Dean glanced at the pile of books in the cart. “Do we have to?”

* * *

An hour later found Castiel sitting in the empty cart while Dean pushed him around the library like a little kid in the shopping cart at Walmart. Dean was making car noises that sounded more like farts, and Castiel laughed until his sides hurt and the tears pooling out from his eyes were from joy and not failure. All the books were put up in their corresponding places, Castiel triple checked to make sure, and his shift didn’t end for another thirty minutes so the duo decided to have a little fun.

They ended up in the back of the library again, sitting on the floor and talking quietly, and when Castiel’s fear of failing his courses caught up to him again, he stilled.

“Cas? You okay? I thought we were having fun.” Dean said lightly, then sensing the atmosphere had changed, he squeezed Castiel’s hand lightly, trying to catch his eyes, but the boy looked away. “Hey, don’t lock me out, Cas. I’m right here. Talk to me.”

And Castiel thinks for a moment how he the hell he went through these past three years of college without Dean.

“Can we just…” Castiel turned, finally met Dean’s gaze, and surged forward, pressing a hard kiss to Dean’s lips. Dean opened his mouth and kissed back eagerly before pushing Castiel away.

“No. Talk to me. Tell me what’s on your mind.” He said, removing Castiel’s hands away from where they’ve held on tightly to his shirt.

“Nothing.” Castiel let go and smoothed the wrinkled fabric.

“Bullshit. What’s going on, Cas? Honestly.”

“What part of ‘nothing’ escapes your understanding?” Castiel snapped, and a flicker of emotion passed through Dean’s eyes before returning back to their regular form.

“Cas…”

“Just—Dean, just touch me. Please. We’ll talk later. I promise.” Castiel grabbed Dean’s hands and put them on his waist. Dean hesitated before setting his arms back on his sides.

“Why can’t we talk now?”

“Why can’t you just make me feel better?!” Castiel half yelled, half whispered. Dean frowned, and Castiel felt for a moment like he blew it with Dean, tipped their ‘relationship’, or whatever _this_ was, right over the edge of the cliff, where it smashed into a million pieces below, and the worst part was that Castiel couldn’t even afford a damn broom and needle and thread to sweep up the evidence and sew it back together.

“I need you.” Castiel hated how weak his voice sounded, like he was pleading for something he couldn’t have.

But Dean said nothing. He looked like he wanted to say something more, talk about feelings and emotions, which Dean always tried to avoid, and Castiel was half prepared for Dean to stand up and walk away, the other half prepared for Dean to snap at him again. What he didn’t expect was for Dean to lean forward and kiss him silently, harshly, so Castiel could feel his words, not hear him. He didn't expect Dean to pop the button on Castiel’s jeans, or for Dean to pull his boxers down and wrap those sweet lips around around him, working Castiel to full hardness with his mouth and tongue.

Castiel gasped, head thrown back and banging against the shelf, muttering a low _fuck_ when he came moments later, buried deep in Dean’s throat, and Dean pulled off, licked his shining lips, and tucked Castiel’s too sensitive dick back into his pants. He heaved himself off the carpeted dusty floor, rubbing his raw elbows from how he'd been propping himself up, then positioned himself next to Castiel, who was still shaking from the aftershocks, and wrapped an arm around him.

“I apologize, Dean.” Castiel said a few minutes later, clinging to the fabric of his shirt and wiping tears he didn’t realize he'd shed.

“Shut up.” Dean answered and pressed his lips to Castiel’s forehead. “You know you’re hot when you’re pissed. ‘S not like I could have resisted you if I wanted to.”

Castiel raised his head from where it rested against Dean’s chest. “Did you want to?”

“No.” Dean grunted. He held Castiel tighter and listened to the sound of their breathings. Castiel kissed Dean again then traced the outline of his face with gentle fingers, unlike the ones that gripped tight on his shirt minutes before.

“Dean, your glasses.” He said suddenly, and shit, Dean didn’t realize he left his glasses in Cas’ dorm until Cas mentioned it just now.

“Doesn’t that bother you? Not being able to see clearly without them?” Cas asked. Dean shrugged.

“Yeah, well, the world’s kind of beautiful when it’s blurred, Cas.”


	9. Chapter 9

**[VOICEOVER]**

Sex happened on a regular basis for Dean and Cas, something so akin to a daily ritual, it seemed almost odd to skip. Sometimes they had sex twice in a day, or if they were really on a roll, three or four.

And forget about marathon weekends when Benny or Balthazar was out. No words exchanged, pants dropped, shirts flung carelessly to the floor. Dean and Cas only got up to eat or take a leak, then fell back into bed with each other, panting and moaning where no one could hear them. The duo ruined more towels than necessary, then found themselves making out in the Laundromat down the block, Castiel propped up on a washing machine while Dean’s waist fitted snugly between his thighs.

Somehow their legs always ended up tangled in the bed sheets, mouths clashing, tongues tangling, and hands grabbing at, well, everything.

They’ve never taken _that_ step before, only the occasional enthusiastic blowjob, getting off mutually whenever Zeus gave them five minutes alone, and a rogue, lubed finger skirting and circling the edge of the rim, on which Cas pushed back desperately on, craving to be touched and stretched out just a little bit more.

They weren’t afraid of taking it to the next level—only what the action might represent, which was a silent but mutual agreement between the two. They’ve already gotten over the fact that this, whatever “this” was, was not your average run of the mill fling.

So who knows what it meant for Castiel to have Dean’s cock thrusting up his ass, or what it meant for Dean to be bottomed out in the tight heat of Cas’ hole? What would it ensue? Commitment was an obvious no-no.

But as much as they both wanted it, _needed_ it, they didn’t push past their limit. They knew what they wanted from each other, and that was good enough (hell, fucking fantastic enough) to know the spots that made them come undone with one touch, how Dean enjoyed having Cas graze his teeth over the soft spot behind his knee and ear, and how Castiel took pleasure from having Dean’s callused hands rake down his sides, hard enough that it wouldn’t tickle, but light enough to still cause his fucking heart to flutter.

 _No chick flick moments_ , another mutual rule. _Feelings shouldn’t get in the way_ , they remembered to remind themselves.

But then why did they find themselves still falling?

**[ENTER] Background MUSIC**

_Open up your parachute, something’s gotta stop the free fall_

**[FADE OUT]**

* * *

**_Concert Night_ **

It’s a tradition, Dean had explained, carried out on the last Friday of every month, where the Vocal and Visual Performance majors gathered students under the college’s pavilion to show off voices that reached passed F6 on a piano (“The rendition of ‘Take On Me’ was fucking spectacular last month, Cas.”) and to flaunt learned light performance skills (“They had like these LED, copper bromide laser sort of shit that was probably created by some secret, nuclear, underground Lightbender: The Fifth Avatar mafia and it just looked so friggin’ sweet I can’t explain.”).

Dean’s been to the concerts a few times over the year. Castiel hasn’t at all, he admitted, which just encouraged Dean to spend the better part of the evening of April 25 convincing Castiel to go.

“You seriously don’t know what you’re missing, Cas.”

“Quite certain I do, Dean.”

Castiel reburied his nose back into the library’s only copy of Shakespeare’s _Julius Caesar_ : _No Fear Shakespeare_ , fucking _determined_ to finish up his left-to-the-last-minute, two thousand-word exposition on _Comparing and Contrasting Early Modern through Contemporary English Language_ that he had been hovering over and trying to complete for the past week.

“Oh, c’mon. You’re no fun.” Dean pouted, flopping down on the twin sized bed Castiel hated, all limbs loose and dangling over the edges of the mattress.

“You know I don’t enjoy attending those events.” Castiel tapped his pencil idly on the spine of the book, his back faced towards Dean.

“Well, I’ll be there, so it can’t be as bad as you think.”

“You think you make everything better, don’t you, Dean?”

“I _know_ I do.” Dean answered, knowing Cas all too well enough to know he didn’t mean the rhetorical question in a cruel way.

Dean sat up, leaning on his elbows and forearms. “Go with me, pretty please?” He pleaded for the third time. Castiel bit the pencil eraser into his mouth without meaning to, making a disgusted face before spitting the remnants out onto the carpet.

“The physical appearance of the word ‘please’ has no effect on my decision, Dean.”

“Does the physical appearance of my hot bod have an effect on your decision?” Dean asked casually, ghosting circles onto Cas’ back with his socked foot.

“There’s a reason I’m not facing you.”

“’Cos you can’t resist _all…that…jaaaazz_.” Dean sang the last part, recalling how his friend slash technologically-advanced-genius classmate, Charlie, had performed as Velma Kelly in January’s _Chicago_ musical rendition _._

The back of Cas’ head tilted to the side, the ‘ _Why are you singing?’_ left unsaid, and it took Dean a moment to figure out that Cas probably didn’t understand the reference. “C’mon, man. You didn’t go with me last month.”

“We were still experimenting with each other last month, Dean. I knew you for a total of five days before the last Friday of last March.”

“ _Slick your hair, and wear your buckle shoes_.” Dean continued, waving Castiel off. “ _And all that jazz.”_

Castiel turned to face Dean, brows drawing together. “Which songs will be covered for April?” He asked after a moment, curious, _obviously_ not because he secretly really wanted to go but was teasing Dean, and _definitely_ not because he wanted to make one hell of an impression on Dean’s female friends (and if Castiel was a little possessive of Dean, no one had to know).

A slow smile spread over Dean’s lips before he spoke. “Well, I’m not completely sure, but I heard from a little redheaded birdie that, uh, songs by _The Shins_ are being played, and I know you like your crazy, hippie indie music, which is very lame like you, so you should go with me and make it awesome instead.”

“And if I still refuse to go?”

“You’ll be lamer, and I will personally make you a gold medal for being the King of Lame, scratch that, P _rincess_ of Lame, and make you wear it around your neck every day, you nerd.”

“I could use a medal.” Castiel answered, and Dean laughed, falling back onto the bed with a sigh.

“Whatever, Cas. You’re still a dork. _My_ dork, but still a dork.”

Castiel smiled to himself and went back to reading. He sped read through the acts up until Casca’s and Brutus’ fatal stabbing of Caesar before setting the book down. Dean was snoring softly from a mound of pillows when Castiel drifted over to him, and Castiel narrowed his eyes, slightly disappointed. He could have sworn he’d only been skimming the book for ten minutes, but then again, no one Castiel knew other than Dean Winchester would have fallen dead asleep within that short of a time period.

“Dean?” Castiel questioned quietly, prodding at the space of bare flesh between Dean’s shirt and where his jeans hung low on his hips. _God, was he fucking beautiful_ , Castiel thought selfishly, walking his fingers up and down Dean’s chest. Dean snorted then peeked an eye open.

“The hell you doin’, babe?” He muttered sleepily. Castiel held back a grin, not answering his question.

“How’d you know I enjoy independent music?” Castiel tried to ask coolly, but a feeling of pride swelling in him instead when he realized that Dean had actually taken time to learn about the little things Castiel appreciated in life.

“Same way you know I’m still stuck in the mullet rock era.” Dean stretched his arms over his head and rolled over. “There’s still a whole bunch of crap I don’t know about you, you know. You gotta tell me all about it someday. Like tonight.”

Castiel set his chin on the edge of the mattress. “Well, knowing only my preferred genre of music is not crucial, Dean,” he started. “Though I, for one, have noticed you unconsciously rub the back of your neck when you’re nervous, you get a more than affectionate look on your face every time you see your brother’s name on caller ID, you have a soft spot in your heart saved specially for Disney movies—” Castiel babbled.

Dean blushed, actually _blushed_. “Okay, okay, you can tell me more about myself on the way to the concert.” He grumbled, embarrassed, but Castiel didn’t miss the smile hidden beneath his words. There was a long list of odd but fascinating aspects about Dean, and Castiel wanted to etch each of them onto his skin so he could read them when he’s alone and misses Dean.

“No, Dean. Let me finish or I’ll—” Castiel paused, deciding whether or not to bring out the dirty side of his personality he knew Dean practically drooled over, like an eighteen year old boy over his prom date. “I will tie you to this bed and run my hands all over your body and lick you and suck you until you’re begging me for release and—”

Dean’s eyes widened. “Is that a threat, Cas?”

“I am—I don’t—I don’t want to label it as a threat. More of a verbal persuasion.”

“So this—your idea of giving me blue balls is supposed to prevent me from taking you to the concert.” Dean said flatly.

A pause.

“Right. Don’t threaten me like that again, Cas.”

“Or what?” Castiel countered.

“Or I’ll just have to shut you up.” Dean wrapped an arm around Castiel’s waist, pulling him down onto the bed. He hovered above Castiel, barely brushing their lips together, knowing it would drive Castiel crazy just feeling their breaths intermingle. It drove Dean a little crazier than Castiel too, but he’d never let Castiel have the benefit of the advantage over Dean. “This is what you get for being a fucking tease, babe.” Dean ran his tongue over the seam of Castiel’s lips, and Castiel’s eyes fluttered shut.

“It’s only a tease if it gets you hot.” Castiel whispered against Dean’s mouth, sucking in a breath. “Please? Just one little kiss and I promise to go.”

“ _Only_ if you come and stop quoting the friggin’ Breakfast Club. Capisce?.”

“I capisce. And oh, but, Dean, I did come this morning. And I don’t exactly understand how you’ve possibly managed to forget that fun adventure we had, but I can refreshen your memory if you’d like.” Castiel deadpanned, turning them over so he was on top. He bowed his head and instantly attacked Dean’s mouth with his own, a reminder of morning and a promise of tonight.

“You little shit. Castiel Novak, I will drag your surprisingly firm ass to this concert if I need to.” Dean laughed breathlessly when they broke apart, hand reaching down to slap Castiel on his behind.

“What mean’st thou by that, thou saucy fellow?” Castiel yelped in a broken English accent, trying to fight his way into smacking Dean’s ass back.

“The clock hath stricken eight, my lord, and the night cometh upon us. ‘Tis time to go.” Dean answered without missing a beat, almost flawlessly, mimicking Castiel’s tone and flipping them over again, pinning the boy’s arms down to the mattress and kissing him open-mouthed again.

“You are hopeless, Dean Winchester.” Castiel squirmed, turning his face, and Dean’s lips met with a mop of brown hair.

“Only for you.”

* * *

After Dean had finally and successfully managed to wrestle Cas into one of his band tees and mussed his bed head, they walked hand in hand across the campus. Dean didn’t remember when they started doing that, holding hands. It felt nice though, the warmth of Cas’ palm in his own with the occasional playful squeeze. Dean glanced down at their laced fingers, wondering if Cas ever thought about their hand holding as much as Dean did.

True to his words, laser lights bounced around every corner of the pavilion where the concert was set up. Smoke machines turned the atmosphere into a haze of blurred drunkenness, and Dean was more afraid of losing Cas in the crowd than accidentally stepping on someone. Someone was singing Depeche Mode’s _Just Can’t Get Enough_ , and if Dean looked hard enough, he could just make out Charlie’s red hair on stage.

“Damn bad idea wearing glasses with a smoke machine here.” He told Cas, annoyed with the way his vision would fog up, then clear, only to fog up again.

Someone tapped his back and Dean whipped his head around, squinting through the fog as arms and perfume were wrapped around him.

“Hey, Losechester.” Jo greeted him, then pulled back to hug Cas. “Wow, you actually got Novak to come out and join us. I’ve been trying to get him to go for months. What’d you do, Dean?”

“Magic.” Jo rolled her eyes, mouthing _agua_ to Dean before sauntering off.

“ _You’re like an angel and you give me your love. And I just can’t seem to get enough of._ ” Dean yelled more than sang, and Cas laughed, ducking his head as a beam of green light swept his face.

The last notes of the song died down, Dean repeating “I just can’t get enough” about a billion times before the guitar riff ended and applause replaced the lyrics.

“You want a drink, babe?” Dean asked when they were able to talk again without sounding like they were practicing a ballad for a screamo.

“Yes. Do they have alcohol?” Cas demanded.

Dean gave Cas a strange look then chuckled. “This isn’t a club, Cas. Some people here are still teenagers. I mean, I could check, but they probably only have like Koolaid or Coke or some other diabetic shit. W—why do you want alcohol anyway?”

“I’ve never had the experience of being intoxicated.”

“Ever? No shit.” Dean raised his eyebrows and Cas crossed his arms, something he always did when Dean was said something idiotic.

“I only turned of legal age in February, Dean, just shy of Valentine’s Day.”

“So, not even over spring break?”

“Of course not. I had no time to indulge. I was busy studying.” Cas blew a lock of hair out of his face and Dean couldn’t help but smile. The Outfields’ _Your Love_ sounded through the air and Dean tapped his foot.

“Okay, goodie two shoes. I’m about 93 percent sure they only have virgin drinks, but, seriously, Cas. Not ever? Dude, I really need to get you roaring drunk someday.”

“I look forward to when that time comes.”

“But no way in hell am I nursing you through your first hangover.” And, yeah, that was totally worth the adorable scowl from Cas.

_Try to stop my hands from shakin’, something’ in my mind’s not makin’ sense_

* * *

Castiel chugged his third can of Fanta down and used his thumb and fingers to create dents in the aluminum, then crushing it against his head just like how Dean had showed him. He let go of the smashed can with a satisfied smile and shot a three pointer into the nearest trashcan while Dean and Jo cheered him on.

“And this is why Cas is fucking amazing.” Castiel heard Dean tell Jo above the music. It was hard to make out the expression on Dean’s face through the smoke and lights, but Castiel didn’t need to see his face to know Dean meant what he said.

Ash was on the stage this time, belting out, surprisingly well too, to Radiohead’s _Creep_ , and Jo was saying something about how much the song suited the mulleted, MIT-expelled, student rocker.

Castiel was still getting over the buzz in his body from chugging a full can of sugary, carbonated soft drink when Dean knelt down in front of him, back facing Castiel, and eased Castiel’s legs over his shoulders. He held a tight grip on Castiel’s knees before standing up slowly, Castiel going up with him.

“Dean!” He protested, hunched over Dean’s head accidentally knocking his glasses off. Jo’s expression changed from shock and amusement as she bent down to pick up Dean’s glasses from the can littered grass.

Of course Dean thought he was strong and broad enough to allow Castiel to sit on his shoulders, and he damn well took that as a challenge. Granted, they were both a little wobbly, but Jo was able to steady them so they wouldn’t topple over like dominoes.

“I can do this myself, Jo.” Dean insisted, shoving the blonde’s hands away.

“Yeah, right. Cas is scared shitless right now and you’re blind as a bat, so would you just shut the fuck up, Ken doll?” She retorted.

“This was probably not the best place to try this, Dean.” Castiel yelled down. He was still holding onto Dean’s hands for dear life.

“Yeah, sorry, jellybean. I should have thought through this before.” Dean answered. Jo snorted at the word.

“What’re you laughin’ at, Harvelle? I get to go home every night and get laid.” Dean said and got a smack to his head by Castiel for his efforts.

* * *

Cas and Dean dancing to Suspicious Minds with Cas perched on Dean’s shoulders like a god on a throne. 

Cas and Dean dancing Ramble On (to which Dean subtly fangirled at). 

Cas and Dean dancing to Thriller, YMCA, Party Rock Anthem, and shaking their hips to the Cupid Shuffle. 

This continued on until Dean’s shoulders ached for mercy and was in need of a massage. And the moment Cas’ feet hit the grass, Dean took ahold of his hand and weaved their way in between the audience before stopping at Charlie, whispering something in her ear, then pointing at a very confused Cas. Charlie winked and walked up onto the stage, shoving Ash off.

She threw the microphone to Dean and he caught it with one hand, the other clasped around one of Cas’ as they made their way onto the stage. Charlie wrapped an electric guitar’s leather strap around her chest and started the opening notes of a song Dean knew all too well because of memories of him and Sam belting to it every morning during his high school years.

“This is dedicated to Cas because he’s awesome for coming with me to this thing.” Dean said quickly.

 _“I’m_ c _oming out my cage and I’ve been doing just fine. Gotta gotta gotta be down, because I want it all.”_ Dean snuck a wink at Cas before continuing. “ _It started out with a kiss, how did it end up like this. It was only a kiss, it was only a kiss.”_

Then Dean pushed Cas off the stage.

* * *

_“Now I’m falling asleep.”_

Castiel thought he was flying.

One moment he was standing on the edge of the stage with Dean, shifting his weight from foot to foot with the beat, then Dean shoved him off.

Castiel’s initial thought was that this was revenge for giving Dean blue balls earlier, but then hands caught him and Castiel uncovered his eyes from where they were hiding behind his fingers.

Hands, hands, hands, and oh wow, that was a finger poking his ass. Repeatedly. There were too many palms touching Castiel’s butt uncomfortably and none of them belonged to Dean. This is probably what Dean described at ‘crowd surfing’, Castiel remembered.

Castiel looked up to the stage and peered through the smoke, where Dean was half laughing and half singing at the mortified expression plastered on Castiel’s face.

“ _I just can’t look, it’s killing me.”_ Dean spit out between chortles of laughter. He shook his hips and stuck an arm out, pointing a finger while moving his arm horizontally and nodding his head to the beat.

Someone flipped Castiel over as he glided along, and then Kevin from Expository Writing held up his chest, Anna from Mythology 101 grasped his wrist, and Garth from Physics AB gripped his calves, until a very irritable Castiel had managed to find (surf?) his way back to the stage where Benny and Andrea struggled to push him back up. Dean took Castiel’s hand and pulled him up all the way.

“ _Destiny is calling me, open up my eager eyes, ‘cause I’m—”_ Dean angled the microphone towards the audience and everyone shouted “ _Mr. Brightside_ ” in unison.

Castiel clapped alongside everyone else and Dean pulled him into a hug as the song died down. Charlie gave them both sloppy kisses on their cheeks before starting out ZZ Top’s _Gimme All Your Lovin’_ and allowing Ash back on the stage.

Dean led Castiel back to their spot, all the while female students squeezed Castiel’s ass using “couldn’t get a chance to earlier” as a pliable excuse.

Castiel’s cheeks reddened. Dean liked that.

Jo was nowhere to be found, so the two sat down and listened to Ash’s dwindling voice in the microphone as Charlie started playing for a softer tune.

“I love this song,” Castiel acknowledged, head in Dean’s lap, eyes closed. He felt Dean’s hands brush the hair away from his face.

“I love…” Dean started, the uncertainty in his tone plain as day. Castiel eyes snapped open and Dean’s hand paused. “…this song too.”

Right.

Castiel tried not to let it show how much Dean's statement affected him in way he'd never felt before, looking up towards the starry night instead, fingers intertwining with Dean's.

 _“But I wanna know,”_ Deansang softly, about two octaves off-key, but Castiel didn't really care at all. ” _Have you ever seen the rain? Comin' down, a sunny day.”_


	10. Chapter 10

_I like big butts and I cannot lie/ you other brothers can’t deny/ when a girl walks in with_ _—_

Dean groaned and rolled over, blinking into the bright ray of light that was perfectly aimed at his pillow, and wondering who the _hell_ was calling on a Tuesday morning. He made a mental note to himself to take a trip to the computing lab and ask Charlie to change the ringtone, because _fuck_ , Dean may have 4 years on his little brother, but the long haired freak of a giant was still a pesky son of a bitch, and Dean was just about as useful with phones as Jo was with dresses (he still teased her for ditching her heels for combat boots at their high school prom).

The ceiling blurred above him as Dean reached blindly for the phone seated on the nightstand. There was a small grunt as he clambered over Cas, whose face wrinkled as Dean interrupted his sleeping state. When his fingers brushed the cool exterior of the device, Dean expertly slid his thumb over the bottom of the screen to answer the call before falling back onto the mattress.

“What?” he slurred into the phone, voice still sleep heavy, and draped an arm over his eyes to shield them from the sun.

“ _Dean?_ ”

“Sam.” Dean sat straight up, wincing at how the blood rushed to his head and seeing stars. “Long time, no talk, huh?”

“ _Right_.” Sam fumbled with something on the other line. “ _How are you?_ ”

“I’m—” Dean glanced down at the sleeping figure beneath him, how Cas’ chest rose and fell every time he took a breath. “—peachy.”

“ _That’s great._ ” Sam said. Dean waited for him to continue, but Sam didn’t.

“Did you just call to tell me your fish went belly up or…?” Dean trailed off, hoping he didn’t come off as rude, but honestly, everyone should know they don’t wake Dean Winchester before eight in the morning, especially Sam, who learned that rule the hard way and suffered from noogies all throughout childhood until his head was shaped like a deformed basketball.

“ _Well, there’s no use dancing around the fire_.” Sam took in a deep breath before rushing the next words out. “ _I got accepted into Stanford_.”

Dean dropped the phone. It landed on Cas’ bare stomach and bounced on the floor, where a tiny “ _Dean, you there?”_ squeaked out. He fumbled with the device, dropping it twice more, then finally managed to bring it up to his ear with shaky hands.

“What?” Dean croaked, rubbing the spot on Cas’ skin. “Wow. Stanford, that’s—that’s fucking fantastic, Sammy. Wasn’t expecting that bomb, but damn, kid, that’s great!” He set the phone down on the sheets, pinching the bridge of his nose and swallowing with a dry throat, a feeling of raw happiness curling through his chest because this is what Dean always wanted, for Sam grow up and be someone good, be someone who helps others fight because he always supported Dean through their troubles, be someone who isn’t a _failure,_ be someone who isn’t _Dean._

 _“…219 on the SATs. I know it it’s expensive as hell, but I’ve been interning at this law firm for months, and I’ve really come to enjoy it, and it pays well so Dad won’t have to work as hard, plus—”_ Sam was saying when Dean picked the phone up again.

“Mom would’ve been proud of you.” Dean interrupted without thinking.

Sam silenced himself. There was pause, then, “ _She would’ve been proud of_ us _, Dean,_ ” he answered. The sound of cereal being poured into a bowl reminded Dean of just how hungry he was. “ _You made it to college too, y'know_.”

“Dammit, Sammy. You’re making me tear up.” Dean faked a sniffle and Sam laughed. There was a muffled snort before Dean heard the sound of the phone hitting the kitchen floor.

“ _Aw, crap. Milk just came out of my nose. Hold on._ ”

“Well, I always told you to keep your nose clean, little bro. You don’t have to take it so literally.”

“ _Shut up.”_

“Dean?” Cas called his name softly, big blue eyes peeking out from behind half-drowsed lids. Dean gave him a small smile.

“Morning, sunshine.” He bent down to peck Cas on his forehead. “Go back to sleep.”

“Is that Sam?” Cas asked the same time Sam said, “ _That Cas?_ ”

“Yes and yes.” Dean set the phone on speaker. “Cas meet Godzilla Junior, Sammy meet my jellybean.” He said proudly. Cas rolled his eyes.

“ _I—I don’t even want to know_.” Sam huffed.

“Hello, Sam.” Cas said shyly, looking up into Dean’s eyes. He sat up, crossing his legs.

“ _Hi, Cas_.”

“Sammy got into Stanford.” Dean announced, wrapping arms around Cas and planting a nasty, morning breath kiss on his cheek.

“Congratulations, Sam.” Cas’ voice shook as Dean started mouthing his jaw. He tilted his head back to allow Dean access to his neck.

“ _Thanks. But, really Dean, you don’t have to tell the whole world. I haven’t even told Dad yet._ ”

“Mhm,” Dean mumbled, in the midst of sucking a bruise onto Cas’ throat. He felt Cas swallow, then a breathy “Dean, stop it.” came right after.

“ _Um, if you guys are in the middle of something I can…”_ Sam coughed awkwardly, and the sound of wet sounds and Cas’ laugh met his ears. He shook his head, hair flying in all directions, and covered his ears because _gross_ , he really didn’t need to hear that.

“No, Sam. It’s alright. I was just leaving.” Cas pushed Dean away and swung his legs onto the floor, stretching his back as he headed towards the bathroom, but Dean caught his hand, and Cas stumbled back onto the bed, half on Dean’s lap. Cas yelped. 

“No he wasn’t, Sammy.” Dean said, wrestling the blue eyed boy back into the mattress.

“ _O—kay. Ignoring that. So, uh, Dean? You’re coming back home this weekend, right?”_ Sam sounded uncertain.

Dean paused, arms stilling around Cas, who tilted his head in curiosity. “Remind me why again, Sammy?”

“ _It’s my birthday._ ”

“Oh. Right. Knew that. You’re turning, what, twelve this year?”

“ _Shut the hell up, Dean. I’m eighteen._ ”

“ _Almost_ eighteen. And still a whiny bitch.”

“ _Jerk_.”

Cas stifled a giggle.

“What’re you laughing at, babe?” Dean blew a raspberry into Cas’ palm and kissed him.

“ _So you are coming, right? Cas can come too, if he wants.”_ Sam continued, really hoping that Dean would spend at least one second _not_ making out with his—boyfriend, maybe? Sam frowned at the word, not because he didn’t approve of the idea of Dean being with a dude, but because he knew Dean wasn’t one to let others into his life often. Knowing him, Dean might not even take his “thing” with Cas seriously.

But maybe Dean _needed_ someone like Cas to make him happy.

“Hell yeah, he can come.” Dean approved just as Cas stammered, “Oh, I—I don’t mean to intrude.”

Dean covered Cas’ mouth with a hand blocked out a muffled noise and answered for him. “Cas said he’d love to come, Samantha.” Cas narrowed his eyes above Dean’s hand and Dean smirked.

 _“That’s great. I’ll—dammit. Dad’s awake. Forgot to make his coffee. Bye, Dean. And Cas. See you guys soon.”_ Dean heard a click as Sam hung up. Then he turned to Cas.

“Sorry I didn’t give you a proper good morning.” Dean leaned in and brushed his mouth against Cas’.

“Mmm. I’m better now.” Cas muttered, kissing him back, a little more eagerly than a sleep deprived Dean.

“We should go to the end of the semester party tonight.” Dean suggested. Even with eyes closed, he could see Cas’ ears perking up like a kitten hearing a bell. Dean leaned back, pushing an affectionate hand through Cas’ dark mop of hair, enjoying the purring sound coming deep from Cas’ throat.

“Why? Where?”

“Because I said so, and the Delta House. Charlie and Jo live there.”

Cas tilted his head thoughtfully. “I think I’d like that,” he said slowly. “What should I wear?”

“Go commando. That’s always a turn on.” Dean winked at Cas and pressed his lips to Cas’ own again. “You’re like Iceland, baby. Cool to the touch, but underneath, you’re all volcano.”

“Is that a flirtation?”

“Maybe.” Dean mused.

“Then that’s geographically correct, and thank you.”

“Don’t thank me if it’s true, babe. You think we can go tonight after my 3 o'clock lecture and your final?”

Cas groaned. “My final exam of my final month of college. That’s today, isn’t it?”

“You’ll do fine. Not to be modest, but you’re fucking smart.”

“How is that not modest?”

“It just is. Now kiss me.” Dean said and leaned in again, Cas meeting him in the middle.

They drew out their kisses slowly, Dean’s hand seated on the sweet slope of Cas’ neck, the tips of his fingers brushing soft hair.

It wasn’t until Cas felt a tear on his cheek that he even knew Dean was crying silently. He opened his eyes, mouth still moving against Dean’s own. Cas had never seen Dean so vulnerable, eyes tightly shut, tears squeezing out and trembling along his lash line, then falling down, like Dean was trying to hold them back and losing his own battle. It was the sort of thing that made you want to hold him tight and never let go, even when the walls were breaking down around you.

“Dean, something the matter?” Cas rubbed hesitant circles into his back, attempting to sooth him.

“Sam got into Stanford.” Dean whispered, almost too quiet for Cas to hear.

“And that’s excellent. But why are you upset?”

Dean buried his nose into the crook of Cas’ shoulder, trembling. “I’m not. I’m just so damn proud of him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Volcano line from Bones 4.26


	11. Chapter 11

“Hurry up with the panorama, Cas.”

“Dean, I heard you the first time you said that. And the second. And now the third. Please shut up so I can concentrate.”

“Sorry, babe.” Dean sighed. “Just do what the phone tells you to do.”

“It’s not telling me to do anything.”

Cas narrowed his blue eyes at the device in his hands, trying to understand Dean’s vague instructions. The arrow on the screen was pointing to the right, and he moved the phone somewhere in that general direction, following the straight line. Somehow, the resulting picture still appeared as if Dean’s arm was amputated.

Cas tried again. And failed. He huffed.

One final exam about dialects and a boring lecture about short circuiting bulbs found the duo and another two hundred students with brains more fried than chicken at the Delta house later that night.

Tacky streamers and paper lanterns decorated the hallways and ceilings, and the vibration of the volume of the music made the thin papers shake.

To top it off, a disco ball was strung up high on the ceiling, emitting squares of white light that rotated slowly around the room, giving the illusion of a romantic setting if you ignored the heavy metal blasting so loudly from the speakers, it made you want to blow your fucking ears off. 

“Dean, the phone is telling me to slow down now.”

“Then slow the fuck down, Cas.”

Cas looked at him straight in the eyes above the phone. “That’s not what you said this morning,” he deadpanned.

Dean raised his eyebrows, bottle in hand, still posing for the camera. “Are you done?”

“My contacts are drying out, Novak.” Jo said loudly through a fake smile. The doorbell rang faintly in the distance.

“Well, I apologize for wanting to keep memories of my last party of college.”

Dean coughed. “And first.”

“Wait, Dean. I pressed something, I think. All I see is my face and it’s not a very pleasant view.” Cas thrust the phone into Dean’s free hand as Jo sauntered off.

“Nice selfie, babe.” Dean held his phone up then slipped it into his back pocket. “I think I just found myself a new background,” he laughed.

“Dean.”

“What? You look hot.”

Cas just rolled his pretty blue eyes and surged forward to kiss Dean. It was chaste. No tongue, although Dean would have preferred a little more—actually a lot more—action if he and Cas were alone.

“This—” Cas started as he pulled himself off of Dean’s mouth. “This doesn’t bother you, no?”

“What, making out with you? Uh, not really. You’re a hot piece of ass and anyone would be lucky as hell to have you.” Dean attempted to say coolly, but instead sounded like a lovesick puppy. He took a sip from the bottle and tried not to smile as Cas eyed him affectionately.

“You’re not anyone.” Cas muttered into his ear as Dean continued holding the bottle up to his closed lips, not allowing the bitter liquid in his mouth. “I really wish we could have sex right now.” Cas growled, then squeezed Dean’s left butt cheek as if he did that thing every day. Dean felt his pants tighten, which was totally _not_ uncalled for, because, hey, have you _seen_ Cas?

Cas paraded off to the music, strutting his stuff and wiggling his hips a little like he knew Dean was watching from behind.

“Nice ass, Novak!” Charlie called, then appeared in the empty spot beside Dean. “Better keep him close, Dean, or these bitches are gonna start throwin’ bills. Not that I’m complaining.”

“Okay, okay, enough with the—” Dean waved his arm in a circle around next to his head, “—stripper music, Charlie. It’s giving him all the wrong vibes.” He gestured wildly to Cas, who was on his way to climbing up on the pool table. _My god, he hasn’t had a drop of booze yet and he’s already acting like a fucking moron,_ Dean thought. _At least he’s cute_ , his brain offered unhelpfully.

“Dean!” Cas yelled to him, jumping up and down in a childish manner, motioning for Dean to join him up on the so-called “stage”. A group of students surrounded the green fabricated table and stared up at Cas expectantly as if they spent their time roleplaying spectators who waited for the assassination of Julius Caesar.

At first, Dean was going to pretend he didn’t know Cas, because, hello, he still has his dignity to protect.

“That’s not me.” He chuckled nervously to other people, mouthing ‘crazy’ to them and twirling his finger next to his ear. He tried blending in with the crowd, glancing around with the other dancing people, and looking for this so-called “Dean”. Cas scowled.

“Dean Winchester, get your ass up here!” He shouted again. Dean raised his bottle in acknowledgement and nodded his head, trying to send Cas a telepathic message along the lines of, ‘I’m perfectly fine right where I am. Please stop embarrassing yourself, babe, and come dance with me instead’. Of course Cas didn’t get the message, or if he did, he elected to ignore it. Rude.

Cas shot him a shit-eating grin and clambered down the table clumsily, making his way over to his intended target. Even fucking better.

“I don’t think the table can hold the two of us, Cas.” Dean said when Cas tried pulling his hand.

“Sure it will.”

“I’m the physics major in this relationship, jellybean.” Dean smiled grimly, and Cas snorted, but dropped his hand.

“Fine.” Cas pouted. Then, “When may I have my first taste of alcohol, Dean?” he asked impatiently. “I’m of age.”

“How ‘bout right now?” Dean wiggled his eyebrows. The statement was meant to be a joke, but Cas responded too eagerly, already halfway through jamming his tongue down Dean’s throat.

“Disgusting.” Cas said when they pulled apart with a loud smack. “Get me a bottle.”

“Get your own, short stack.” Dean answered but grabbed Cas’ hand, trying to find a route that led to the tiny kitchen. They crossed a hallway, where a slip ‘n slide was duct taped to the carpet floor, and a hose was spraying water overhead. Ash, who was already more than drunk and shirtless, slid on his stomach down the hall, yelling incomprehensible words as his mullet flapped behind him.

Dean’s shoes touched tile, and he hustled Cas into the kitchen, making a face at the couple who were making out against the fridge. Dean reached into the cooler next to the pantry, cursing as his ‘warm-from-holding-Cas’-hand’ hand hit ice-cold water, and he pulled out a beer. He used the counter to pop the cap off and handed the bottle to Cas, who immediately brought the opening to his lips to chug it down.

“Dude, slow down or else you’re gonna like ingest all the foam and burp beer bubbles.” Dean took a swig of his own and let out an exhale at the satisfying burn as the thick, amber liquid traveled down his throat.

Cas cocked his head to the side and sucked his lower lip between his teeth. “I—I think I’m starting to feel something, Dean. You know, I’ve never done this before.”

“Wow, one beer and you’re already halfway to hammered, babe.”

* * *

Two bottles later, Cas was all electricity and adrenaline, an angel bursting with glow-white wings, a beacon attracting all sorts of single women in their early twenties, a flashing neon sign blaring, “Fuck everyone.”

“RED SOLO CUP.” Cas yelled at no one in particular. “I’LL FILL YOU UP. LET’S HAVE A PARTY.”

Okay, so Cas was a fun and loud drunk. Dean figured he would have to deal with that sooner or later.

In the meanwhile, Dean stood off in the distance, watching Cas like the complete stalker he was.

Cas’ eyes were somehow bluer.

Brighter.

Happier.

Dean loved it. Loved him. He found that he liked seeing Cas wild and out of control outside the bedroom. Granted, Dean didn’t appreciate the quantity of large breasted woman hitting on Cas, and more than once, he caught them slipping him their written numbers on a damp napkin, which a jealous-even-though-he-would-never-admit-it Dean extracted from Cas’ hand and tossed in the trash.

Drunk Cas was that sort of hot mess you would want to crawl into bed and fool around with for the whole night. That plan might have crossed Dean’s mind once or twice.

Or maybe a hundred times.

The Cheshire Cat had nothing on Cas, whose gummy smile was more contagious than the Black Death. His hair was a fucking mess, borrowed blue tie somehow backwards, dress shirt halfway unbuttoned.

It was kind of a turn on, really, but the only thing Dean should be popping at a party is balloons.

Dean watched as Cas shook a can of beer and pulled the tab slightly, so it sprayed out, drenching Jo in the process. She shoved Cas playfully and dabbed her shirt with a towel before teaching him to shotgun a beer.

“Goddamn, Dean. You need to bring Cas here more often. I like him.” Charlie said, suddenly appearing by Dean’s side, and he jumped a foot.

“Yeah, he’s somethin’ alright. He’s a weird, dorky little guy.” Dean smiled warmly, his own brain a tad buzzed. Cas caught his eye, grinning crookedly, and it set fire to something in Dean’s chest, the good kind of feeling.

“Thank god Jo is on cleaning duty, right?” Charlie nudged Dean. “Great ass when she puts in effort to mop the floor. Especially with _those_ jeans on.”

Dean nodded before the words registered in his slow mind. “Wait, what?” He said stupidly, eyes flickering from Cas back to Charlie. She shrugged.

Before Charlie could answer, and to their utter surprise, Cas climbed up onto the billiard table once again, ignoring the protest of “Hey, that’s my shot! And my bed!” coming from a still shirtless Ash who was angrily waving a burgundy pool cue. Jo took the stick from her surrogate brother and smacked him upside the head with a sticky, beer coated palm.

“This goes to Dean, who sang me a song before.” _Oh, shit_. Cas stood still for a few seconds, then the opening notes of “Like A Virgin” sounded, erupting a loud cheer from the same females Dean had hardly managed to unstick from Cas earlier.

Cas shook his hips to the beat, head hung low, and arms moving randomly. He looked up for a split second to wink at Dean, who was sure his mouth was gaping wide open.

_Like a virgin, touched for the very first time_

Cas’ hands curled up towards his neck, then scratched down over his chest, and he threw his head back in fake ecstasy, slowly spinning in a circle on wobbly feet. Then his eyes shut tight, mouth parted slightly, and Dean sucked in a sharp breath as he recognized the expression he’d seen so many times—it was Cas’ orgasm face.

_When your heart beats, next to mine_

Dean’s cock twitched. Cas bit down on his lower lip, dragging the flesh across the upper row of his teeth.

_Been saving it all for you, ‘cause only love can last_

Dean shut his eyes, torn between the decision of yanking Cas down and having his way with him right on the pool table, or to look away and stuff an icepack down his pants to calm his raging hard-on.

Cas gazed into Dean’s eyes again, licking his lips. That bastard. Cas knew exactly what he was doing to Dean. And he was fucking enjoying it.

The song played on tortuously, and Dean gripped the bottle so tight, his knuckles turned white. He took deep breaths, in and out, in and out. The women tossing one dollar bills at Cas—fuck, Charlie wasn’t lying when she said they would—continued encouraging him, and Dean lifted his head when he heard a shriek.

And there went Cas’ tie. And a button. Now two. Cas’ collarbone was lined with sweat, his expression dazed. He kept his eyes in line with Dean’s, never breaking contact, then by the fifth button, Dean slammed the bottle down on the table and stalked towards Cas, yanking the blue eyed boy off the table so he fell into Dean’s strong arms. Dean planted one on him the moment Cas’ feet touched the ground, not giving a care in the world who saw them, and Cas licked into his open mouth tentatively, tongue tanged with the taste of alcohol.

“Okay. That’s enough for now.” Dean said hoarsely when they broke apart. “And I said college party, Cas. Not strip club.”

“You don’t seem to be complaining.”

Dean sighed a little and kissed Cas hard again, ignoring the whooping sounds and wolf whistles coming from—well, who gives a shit?

“What are you doing, Dean?” Cas squirmed in his arms.

“I’m marking my territory.” Dean kissed him again, and saw the flash of a camera from behind his closed eyes. Great, this was probably going on Tumblr.

“You’re not going to urinate on me too, are you?” Cas laughed into Dean’s mouth, and Dean swallowed the sound with another mouth-on-mouth action.

“C’mon. You’re very drunk.” Dean led them towards a quieter hallway.

“I _am_ still capable of forming complete sentences, Dean.” Cas slurred when Dean wrapped an arm around his waist to keep him vertical. “And all these women seem to really enjoy my company.”

“They also seem to really enjoy the fact you’re sexy and you have a dick.” Dean intoned. Cas glanced down at his crotch in accordance.

“Huh.” He mumbled stupidly as if he wasn’t even aware he had one. Then he looked up to face Dean. “You—you think I’m sexy?”

Dean gently removed the dollar bills from the lining of Cas’ jeans, stuffing them into the front of Cas’ pocket, glad the blue eyed boy was too drunk to protest. “No. I don’t,” he answered.

“Oh.” Cas sounded disappointed. Dean pulled him into a linen closet for privacy and shut the door, setting his hands on Cas’ waist.

“I think you’re desirable.” Dean kissed Cas lightly on his lips. “I think you’re an idiot most of the time.” Another chaste kiss. Cas giggled. “I think…the Milky Way would be way fucking jealous of your eyes.” A pause. Cas looked up at him, blinking slowly through his lashes, breath hot on Dean’s tongue.

“You know, Dean,” Cas whispered slowly, pulling his hips flush against Dean’s own, “I think we should go back to my dorm, and um, you can give me some of your lovin’ there.”

Dean frowned in the dark. But maybe it wasn’t the right time to be saying those kinds of things. Cas was drunk off his fucking ass anyway.

He nodded. “Okay.”

* * *

They burst through the dorm door, mouths moving aggressively across one another’s like they were guns blazing, ricocheting bullets aimlessly off of unknown surfaces. They were the only ones in the world, kissing like they were being graded on their performance of how they fit together seamlessly, flawlessly.

Cas grabbed the lapels of Dean’s jacket and pulled it down his arms in one quick, smooth motion while Dean busied himself with popping the button on Cas’ jeans. Somehow, Dean’s own pants were shucked off during in the action, thrown on the floor to be ignored. His glasses were long gone; he’d look for them in the morning.

Sweaty hands gripped Dean’s shoulders, and woah, when did his shirt come off? Cas kissed Dean open mouthed and filthy, biting, sucking, licking, and—

No. No. No. No. No.

The way Cas stumbled, stammered, stuttered, wasn’t right. He stepped on his laces, drunken brain not able to tell the difference between his left and right foot, going one way while Dean tried to guide him to the other.

The tongue sliding across his lips tasted like cheap beer, not Cas’ overly sweet coffee.

Cas pushed him onto the bed, and Dean felt trapped, the handsy, boozed out Cas unfamiliar with Dean’s body. He was sharing a bed with two people: Castiel Novak and alcohol, and alcohol was winning the war over sanity in Cas’ brain. Dean could see it. This Cas kissed differently, eyes glazing over Dean’s body naked body unfocused, uncaring. This Cas didn’t live in the moment. Dean braced himself.

“I would really like you to fuck me.” Cas growled a moment later, voice heavy from poppin’ one to many bottles.

Dean’s mind stumbled over the words. “What?”

“I said—”

“No. Hell no. You’re drunk of your ass, Cas.”

“I don’t care.” Cas straddled his lap and rolled his hips down, eliciting a groan from Dean.

“N—No. Our first time is not going to be a drunken thing, alright?” Dean stopped Cas’ hands from where they were roaming a little too much downward.

Cas laughed bitterly, with no real emotion, and it made Dean’s chest tighten. “I’m not a girl, Dean. Anytime to fuck is the right time.”

“Stop saying that.”

“What, ‘ _fuck_ ’?” Cas gave him a stupid look through bloodshot eyes and raised his hips a little so Dean’s cock brushed against his fluttering hole.

“Yes! It’s not you. _This_ isn’t you.” Dean gestured his hands towards Cas, but the blue eyed boy slapped him away.

“You do not know _anything_ about me.” Cas looked away, nails biting into the flesh of Dean’s sides, and he winced. This Cas was a wild animal let out of his cage, and Dean quickly learned to hate that side of him.

“I do.” Dean said weakly, hating the way this Cas made him feel insecure and shy. “I mean, c’mon man. I hardly know you right now. It’s like you’re a completely different person!”

“You hardly knew me two months ago and I still managed to get you on your knees to suck me off. I hardly see the difference now.” Cas snapped.

“Wow, that was extremely uncalled for. Not cool, Cas.” Dean shoved him off and Cas toppled over onto the floor like a single domino.

“This conversation is completely uncalled for.” Cas narrowed his blue eyes at him. “If lube is the problem, I can—”

“N—” Dean started, squeezing the bridge of his nose. “That’s very  _not_ the problem here. That’s like the total opposite of the problem here.”

“Then why won’t you just fuck me?” Cas crawled on top of Dean again, using his knees to pin him down to the mattress. His breath wasn’t the minty toothpaste Dean loved. “Isn’t that the only reason why you’re with me?”

An expression of hurt crossed Dean’s face, but was quickly replaced by anger. Cas swallowed with a click, knowing he had crossed the line. He climbed off the bed more ungracefully than he meant to and grabbed Dean’s shirt from the ground, curling up into a ball and holding the fabric close to his chest.

“Is that—” Dean’s felt his face heat up. “—all you want from me? Just sex.” Dean reached down and blindly searched for his boxers. He pulled them on, then tugged his pants over his legs next, buckling the belt as Cas huddled in the corner of the room.

“I sense that ‘friends with benefits’ is not the right thing to say at this moment.” Cas mumbled into Dean’s shirt, eyes hidden beneath a mop of dark, messy hair.

Dean opened his mouth to say something, then shut it, because this Cas wouldn’t give a shit about it anyway. His glasses were sprawled open near the door and he turned back to Cas after wiping the lenses on his rough fabric of his pants.

“Dean, I didn’t—”

“Save the sob story.” Dean held out a hand. “Give me my shirt, Cas.”

“No, Dean—” Cas protested, but Dean snatched the piece of fabric from Cas’ loose arms. Cas clutched the hem of the shirt with the ends of his fingers, and it nearly killed Dean. He wanted to hold Cas close to him, drunk or not, because, come on, this was _Cas._ His Cas. His Cas who probably wouldn’t remember anything the next day. His Cas who might be wobbly today but different tomorrow.

“Fuck you.” Dean spit out instead, voice sharp like knives, words dripping rigidly. Cas whimpered, grinding the heels of his hands into his eyes to mop up the wetness falling down his face, and Dean felt himself go numb, but couldn’t find the power to stop.

“I’m not someone you can take granted for, Cas.” Dean didn’t realize how harsh it sounded until the words came spewing out of his mouth. “I actually liked you, I had feelings, which is a fucking shame because, ‘hey, the guy I’ve been seeing, the guy I fell in _love_ with, he just wants me for my manly man parts’.”

Cas said nothing, slipping on a stray t-shirt from the floor. _Dean's_  shirt. Dean had been leaving so many articles of clothing at Cas’ dorm that it’s become hard to keep track of who owns what. The sight made Dean’s heart cringe, and he sucked in a steady breath.

“Go find someone else to screw, Cas. I’m done.” He muttered, flicking the lights on and pulling the door open. He grabbed his shoes by their backs with two fingers and walked out.

Dean knew Cas followed him out, the pitter-patter sound of Cas’ bare feet on the floor almost impossible to miss, and so Dean spread his arms out dramatically when he turned to face Cas again.

“And by the way, thanks for the mythology lesson in the library.” Dean said with fake sincerity and smiled wide and toothy, just because he knew it would piss off the drunk and horny Cas, and though Dean would never admit it, it felt really good to make him upset right now. “I’ll use that trick the next time I feel like screwing someone.” Dean saluted with his free hand and spun back around.

“Hey!” Cas stumbled over his feet, leaning against the wall for support. “That’s plagiarism, you assbutt.”

“Then I’ll cite you, okay, Cas? In MLA format too, so maybe I won’t _fail_  like this relationship.” Dean snapped.

Cas stopped shouting back then, huddling close against the wall like it was his security blanket, and Dean watched him sink to the floor, bury his face in his knees. 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based off of Friends 2.07

“I did _not_ shave my legs to spend my Saturday night attending a sob-fest hosted by Castiel Novak and pretend to listen to him whine about one asshole Dean Winchester.”

“I was being the assbutt to him, Joanna. And I’m not sobbing? ”

“Could you, like, not call me that? It makes me feel like a little girl with curly blonde pigtails and a pink Sunday school dress.”

“Technically speaking, you _are_ a few months younger than I.”

“Technically speaking, I could still kick your ass, Novak. Girl or not.”

Castiel frowned and took a sip from his milkshake. The same one he ordered on his first date with Dean. He ran his pinky around the rim of the glass, reminiscing about the weeks before.

“Oh, get _over_ yourself already.” Jo undid the loose bow of her apron and turned around, handing the strings to Castiel to retie. “And stop sulking around. The only way you’re going to get over him is to give him closure.”

“Closure.” Castiel repeated flatly. He pulled the loops tight, evening out their teardropped shapes.

“Yes! Closure. Something that says ‘I’m over you’ without saying it.” Jo explained, rummaging through the front pocket of the apron and spinning around.

“But I’m not over Dean.”

“But you need to act like it. Then he’ll be racing back to you in no time.”

“And you know this because…?”

“Because I’m the love guru. Now call him. And give him closure.” Jo thrust Castiel’s phone in his hands from when she pickpocketed him when he walked into the Roadhouse.

“When did you—?” Castiel started, a confused expression crossing his face, and he checked for his wallet.

“It’s dialing, Novak.”

Castiel put the phone up to his ear. “Dean isn’t answering.” He said a moment later.

“He’s probably asleep or eating or _something_. You know him. Give it a minute.”

“Maybe he’s ignoring me.” Castiel said nervously.

“Maybe he is, Novak. And who’s fault is that?”

Dean picked up on the ninth ring.

* * *

“Dean, hey! You made it!” Sam opened the front door and gathered his big brother in his arms.

“Hey, Sasquatch. I’d hug back but, uh, my arms are full.” Dean’s voice came out muffled in the crook of Sam’s armpit. “So you gonna let me in? Or are we just gonna stand here and embrace like star crossed lovers?”

“Okay, grumpy.” Sam let him go and Dean dropped his bags inside foot of the door. He kicked his shoes off and headed towards the kitchen.

“Where’s Cas?” Sam asked, leaning against the door frame as Dean searched through the fridge for, well, anything.

“Couldn’t make it. Just me and my baby.” Dean answered, pointing towards his car through the kitchen’s window.

“Oh. That’s too bad. I really wanted to meet him. He seemed like an okay guy.”

“’Okay’?” Dean repeated incredulously. He stuck his head out of the fridge. “That’s it? He’s just ‘okay’.”

“Yeah, well, I never met the dude. So I don’t know.” Sam shrugged.

“That’s right. You don’t know. So stop jumping to conclusions—”

“Alright. I got it.” Sam snapped. Dean faltered his next words, mouth closing, then opening again and closing like a goldfish.

“Sorry, man. Me and Cas, we got into this argument.” He said finally, looking down at the floor tile, because, wow, so much more interesting than fighting with his younger brother who he hasn’t seen in months.

“Uh huh. Well, Jess is coming over soon if you want to talk about your feelings with her.” Sam teased.

“Shut up, gigantor.” Dean grabbed a half-eaten ham sandwich off a plate and held it up. “This yours?” He took a bite.

“Not anymore.” Sam sighed. He followed Dean to the living room.

“Who’s Jess?” Dean mumbled around a mouthful of lettuce and tomato.

“A, uh, she’s a friend.” Sam’s face flushed.

“Friend my ass. Look at you. You’re redder than Clifford the big red chupacabra.” Dean squeezed his little brother’s cheek with mayonnaise-y fingers.

“Shut up, Dean.”

“You know you love me. I’m your hero. I’m—I’m Batman.”

“Right. _You’re_ Batman.” Sam retorted sarcastically, slumping into the barcalounger. Then he stood up and hovered around the television set. “So you wanna play COD or somethin’? Dad got me a console for Christmas and going against a CPU gets pretty boring.”

“Nah. Let’s watch a movie.” Dean rubbed his hands together and paced around on the carpet before settling down on the worn out leather couch.

“Okay, we have Star Wars, which is lame, Indiana Jones, The Good, The Bad, and The—” Sam rattled off, crouched in front of the television station.

“Star Wars is not lame.” Dean interrupted. Then, “Do we have Hercules?”

* * *

“I mean, I like him so much, Sammy, it like—it drives me fucking insane.”

“Uh, huh.” Sam answered vaguely, eyes on the television and arms around Jess, who showed up Dean doesn’t recall when.

“Then he said something, and it made it sound like he just wanted me for sex, y’know?”

“Ignoring that.” Sam said just as Jess piped up and asked, “Don’t you think he feels the same way?”

“I thought he did.” Ignoring the plastic rim of the glasses framing his eyes, Dean buried his face into the armrest as Meg started singing something about love. It reminded him of Cas, who made Dean put on subtitles so he could sing along to it.

“Maybe he’s afraid of commitment, Dean. You said he was practically married to his studies?” Jess twirled Sam’s hair around her finger and blew into his ear. It made Dean want to scream of happiness because, _damn_ , he may not be totally straight, but he still knew when a girl was the perfect mixture of cute and hot, and plus, it was about damn time Sam got some action.

“Yeah, he’s a fuckin’ nerd. More than Sammy. Straight A’s, well sort of. Four point oh until he met me. It’ s like three point somethin’ now.” Dean shrugged.

“Cas let his grades drop for you?” Sam said, eyes finally tearing away from the screen. Dean nodded, and his little brother continued. “Big sacrifice, right there. Now tell me again how he doesn’t like you?”

“You’re saying he likes me because I made him go from scholarship lover to dick thirsty? The hell you know about happiness over school?” Dean scoffed.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Well,” he said slowly, “I got my first C when I met—.” He gestured to the lump of _female_ in his lap.

“No shit?” Dean raised his eyebrows and sat up straight. “Really? Dude. _Marry_ her.” Jess giggled. “Did you tell her about that time you made me braid your hair because you were obsessed with Katniss?”

“Aww.” Jess cooed.

“Yeah, Dean, never telling you about my love life again.”

“Uh, yeah you will. Now shut up and watch the movie, asshat.”

* * *

An hour later found Dean and Jess in switched positions, Jess eating strawberry icecream straight from the carton on the couch and Dean clambered over Sam on the barcalounger, sobbing “Cas” into his shirt.

“Uh, Dean.” Sam said, embarrassed, patting his brother’s back awkwardly. Dean made a small noise to show he was listening and Sam continued. “Maybe you could just, I don’t know, call Cas?”

“No point in doin’ that.” Dean wiped his face on the fabric of Sam’s shirt and he grimaced.

“See, Dean. This is roughly the part where you'd tell me to suck it up and stop acting like a twelve year old girl.”

“ _You’re_ a twelve year old girl.”

“Really. Who’s the one crying over their boyfriend?”

Dean paused. “Shut the fuck up, Samantha. I’m in pain.”

“No, you’re a depressed asshole. Just call him.” Sam stood up, dumping Dean off his legs as he reached for Dean’s phone on the coffee table.

“But it’s not my fault!” Dean protested.

“Who wears the pants in the relationship?”

“What does that has to do with anything?” Dean snapped.

“I’m assuming Cas does then.” Sam said, scrolling through Dean’s contacts for Cas’ name.

“Fuck you. Gimme my phone.” Dean held a hand out and Sam dropped the device into his open palm. It rang in his hands.

“Speak of the devil.” Dean muttered, staring at the glowing screen as Cas’ name lit up. He froze.

“Pick it up, Dean!” Jess threw the spoon at him and it hit his kneecap. Dean didn’t notice.

“Wha—? No! I need him to think I’m still hurt. Which I still am, just to clarify. No, I’m kidding, not really hurt at all actually. I can’t stay mad at Cas.”

“God, you’re such a drama queen.” Sam said exasperated, running his hands through his hair.

“Excuse me, Rapunzel. Did you say something? I couldn’t hear you from all the way up there with all your hair—”

“Pick up the damn phone, Dean!”

“Fine, bitch.”

“Jerk!”

“Hey, shut up. Don’t say a word. He needs to think I’m mourning in my room alone without you asshats here.” Dean whisper-snapped. “Not you, Jess.” He winked. Sam stuck his tongue out.

“Hey, Cas.” Dean said smoothly into the phone as if nothing was wrong.

“ _Hello, Dean_.” Cas answered. The noise in the background told Dean that Cas was probably somewhere crowded, in a restaurant maybe? On a date? Not that Dean cared. But still, it had literally been only one day since their fight, so Dean did have the right to be pissed if Cas was with someone else already.

“Dean, _say_  something.” Jess whispered.

“ _Am I interrupting something_ _?_ ” Cas asked slowly.

“Uh, no. Not at all. Sam is just—we’re doing stuff—Jess is here—watching movies.” Dean stuttered. Jess covered her eyes with her hands as Sam mouthed ‘ _seriously, Dean_?’ to him.

“ _Oh_.” Only Cas could sound adorable saying only a one syllable word. And, yeah, Dean needed get those thoughts out of his head because he was supposed to be mad at Cas, right?

“You need something?” Dean asked, and _ouch_ , he didn’t mean for it to sound so harsh.

“ _No. I just—I just wanted to see how you were doing_.” Cas said softly, so quiet that Dean almost didn’t catch it with all the background noise. He brought the phone away from his ear.

“He wants to see how I’m doing?” He hissed to Sam, who shrugged his shoulders and looked at Jess for answers.

“Fine.” Dean answered. “Yourself?”

“ _I’m fine as well_.” Cas said. More like ‘ _fine as hell’_ , Dean’s brain thought unhelpfully. Of course Cas was fine. He was out socializing with people and probably drinking Oreo milkshakes while Dean was playing third wheel to his nerd brother and his nerd brother’s hot girlfriend.

The longest silence in the history of silences fell over the phone. Dean would have thought Cas hung up if he didn’t hear Jo in the background asking if Cas needed a refill for his drink.

“So, what, we callin’ it quits now?” Dean asked.

“ _Do you want to?_ ” Dean couldn’t pinpoint exactly how Cas was feeling, which really sucked, considering they’ve only been apart for 24 hours. He needed to step up his game.

“I don’t know.”

“ _I—I think it would be best if we took a break, Dean_.” Cas said after a four second pause. And hold up, hold the phone for just one second. Dean was supposed to be the one breaking up with Cas. Not the other way around.

“A break.” Dean repeated flatly. He saw Jess frown from the corner of his eye.

“ _Yes. That’s—what I just said_.”

“Alright. One break to-go. You want plastic or paper with that?”

“ _I don’t understa_ —”

“Of course you don’t. Nevermind.”

There was a rustle, and then Jo’s muffled, “ _What’d he say?_ ” Cas answered something back incomprehensible and then the clink of a cup rang through the phone.

“ _I should go. Jo says she should close up before I end up drinking her whole milkshake machine_.” Cas muttered, and was that regret Dean heard?

“Right.”

“ _Goodbye, Dean_.”

“Later, Cas.”

“ _Tell Sam that I’m truly sorry I couldn’t come along and that I hope he has a wonderful birthday_.”

“Will do.” Dean waited for Cas and him to do the thing where they would see who had the guts to hang up first, but the dial tone hit Dean’s ear before he could even manage _not_ hanging up.

“What’re you guys, Ross and Rachel?” Jess exclaimed immediately after Dean set his phone down to stare at it in his hands.

“What?”

“Friends, Dean.” Sam joined in.

“No, me and Cas—”

“Cas and I.” Sam and Jess said in unison. Holy shit, they were perfect for each other. 

“—we’re not—I wouldn’t say ‘friends’. _Maybe_ , a big maybe, we’re a couple. _Were_ a couple. I mean, he prefers ‘fuck buddies’, but—” Dean ran a hand through his short hair.

“The show, Dean.” Sam interrupted.

“Man, I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

“The One Where Ross Finds Out? You and Cas—”

Dean cut him off, shaking his head. “Nope, none, zero, zip, zilch, nada, nothing, diddly squat, jack. That ship has sailed.”

“Is that another Titanic reference? Wow, Dean. Like you, they get worse with age.”

“Your face is getting worse.”

“Very mature, Dean.”

* * *

Castiel rolled over in his small twin bed on Sunday morning, hand involuntarily searching for Dean’s warm body, but then Castiel remembered Dean wasn’t there anymore.

He walked into the college campus library after finally crawling out of bed and getting dressed, intending to use work to forget about Dean. He signed in, scribbling his name on the sheet with black ink, before heading towards the main desk to pick up his weekly cart of textbooks.

“Castiel, right?” The gray haired woman called, looking up from her keyboard as Castiel passed by the desk.

“Yes, that’s my name.” He answered.

“Okay, well, I got some good news and I got some bad news for you, honey. Which one you wanna hear first?”

“Good.”

“Well, the good news is maintenance got the library’s cameras to work again.”

“Um, I don’t know exactly how to respond to that.” Castiel wrung his hands nervously, not knowing where this conversation was going.

“Ask me for the bad news now, sweetheart.”

“What is the bad news?”

“This you?” The lady turned her computer screen around so that it was facing him. On it played a black and white tape of Dean and Castiel behind the bookshelves, Dean’s face bent over Castiel’s crotch, head bobbing up and down as the back of Castiel’s skull banged against the wooden shelf. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what was happening.

Castiel recognized that moment as the one where he pleaded for Dean to make him feel better after thinking he flunked his final, where he begged, weak and vulnerable, for Dean to just give him what he wanted.

Castiel swallowed, throat dry.

“Shit. I should have fired you _after_ you put the books up.” The lady groused. Castiel tilted his head.

“I’m fired?” Castiel echoed.

“It’s against policy rules for employees to engage in such activities…” The woman started, but Castiel didn’t hear her, his mind drifting off.

Castiel’s eyes burned with the image of Dean on top of him, from the way Dean looked at him afterwards, with nothing but love and genuine affection, one that Castiel never noticed because he was too busy thinking about himself and not enough about Dean.

The lady took a pink slip out of her drawer and filled it out with information about his termination of employment, but Castiel couldn’t read any of it with his vision quickly blurring. He folded the paper and slipped it in his pocket, then turned around and ran.

It wasn’t until later Castiel spending his last paycheck at the Laundromat when he even realized he lost his only job.

He sighed.

* * *

Castiel knocked on the locked doors, trying to get Jo’s attention. The blonde glanced up from wiping the table, brows furrowing as she headed towards the double glass doors.

“What’re you doing here, Novak?” Jo asked when she unlocked and opened the door with a soapy hand. “It’s like eight in the morning. On a Sunday. Go to church. Or back to sleep.”

Castiel took a deep breath and uttered the same words that got him into this mess in the first place.

“May I apply for a job here?”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huzzah for Captain America

“Ow—ow—shit—ow—son of a bitch god on a tortilla—that’s hot.” Dean snatched his hand from the oven, sucking his fingers into his mouth as he headed towards the freezer to search for the lumpy bag of emergency first-aid peas the Winchester Family kept in the back of the icebox.

Friggin’ Sam, always putting the oven mitts back where they belonged. Seriously, just because his housewife of a brother _could_ organize the kitchen stuff doesn’t mean he had to. Dean spent well over an hour searching for the stupid egg beater until common sense took over and commanded his drowsy head to use a damn fork to whip them instead.

“Morning.”

Dean flinched, startled, hand automatically gripping the first thing it touched—frozen meat patties the size of his head he bought on impulse at Walmart two years ago, because he went through a Die Hard phase and wanted to feel like a manly man with huge-ass hamburgers. 

“Godsam it, damn,” he cursed. Sam mumbled something that sounded a lot like a repeat of Dean’s words and snorted. Dean backtracked and, wow, okay, he must be a lot more sleep deprived than he thought. “I mean, you know—whatever. Shut up,” the older Winchester sputtered, still elbow-deep in the freezer, and gave up on his search, substituting for an icecream bar instead.

Sam scratched his scalp, blinking wearily, and stepped into the kitchen to survey the mess of loose flour and egg shells scattered around the white-turned-oddly-yellow tile. “What the hell are you doing? It's eight in the morning,” he asked, slumping into the stool seated in front of the counter and buried his face into his arms.

“I'm baking a pie! Happy belated birthday, little brother!” Dean gave the lump of sleeping giant a four-year-old-on-Christmas-morning grin and heaved himself up on the counter. 

“I'm not little. You're...little,” Sam replied. 

“I'm not little in some places.” Dean smirked; Sam lifted his head and arched an eyebrow at his mature-as-a-fucking-sock brother. 

“You kiss Cas with that mouth?”

“You kiss Jess with _that_ mouth, Mick Jagger?” 

“I don't—” Sam reached for a silver spoon next to the toaster, held it up the light, checking his reflection on the back where overly red, pouty lips took up like half of his face. He groaned. “Aw, crap. I used Jess’ chapstick yesterday. I think I might be allergic to coconut.”

“You're a painted whore, Jolie.” Dean cackled.

“Ha-ha. I hope you still think that's funny when you're in _hell,_ ” Sam retorted, glaring at his older brother through a hair-curtain, and flopped back down. 

“Been there. Done that. ’S not that impressive,” Dean quipped. “Hey hey, dude, where’d you put the oven mitts? I nearly burned my freakin’ skin off.” He held up the Bluebells in demonstration. 

Sam let out a muffled ‘nghh’ and made a vague ‘over there’ motion with his hand pointing towards the drawer behind Dean’s calves. The older Winchester glanced down from his throne on the counter and bent his legs crisscross-applesauce style because he’s still a four year old at heart and no one can fucking tell him otherwise. He slid the drawer open and took the mitts out, slipping them over his hands as he jumped down with a grunt, reaching for the oven handle. 

“Hot hot, still hot, not as much as me hot,” Dean singsonged to himself as he pulled Sam’s pie from the oven and set it on the counter. He took their fancy shmancy ceramic plates from the cabinet—not Mary Winchester's china set because John Winchester wouldn't even wait until Dean was asleep to strangle him if there was even a tiny, non-distinctive chip present on any one of them—and tossed one to Sam like a frisbee, yelling ‘Heads up!’ as the dish went sailing across the kitchen. 

Sam's head snapped up when the plate smashed into the cupboard above his head, raining down particles over him, and he gave his older brother a ‘Dean, what do you think you're doing?’ classic bitchface. Dean bounced his shoulders. Right. Well, he’d have to deal with that sooner or later. 

“That's why we don't have nice things, Sammy,” Dean said, just because it was the lawful duty of firstborns to blame their kid siblings for their stupidness. He took a can of whipped cream from the fridge, shook it thoroughly, then swirled it over his half of the pie only, because Sam was a freak who didn’t appreciate the good things in life, like this delicious, sugary shit. 

Sam opened his mouth to say something witty in return, then thinking better of it, groused, “I hope you didn’t accidentally pour ten cups of sugar into the mix,” as he dragged the stool across the floor towards his idiotic brother and plopped his ass right back on it. 

“What d’you mean ‘accidentally’?” Dean waved a fork in the general proximity of his hand before stabbing the pie and stuffing his face with cherry and homemade crust. 

“Goddamn, I fucking _love_ Culinary Arts.” 

Sam eyed his brother in disgust as chewed up bits fell from his toothy grin. 

* * *

“This is your first session, Cassie. Stop being such a wuss, and pay attention to what I’m trying to say.”

“I don’t feel like it.”

“I can help you. I’m a psychologist in training, and I am _very_ good at what I do,” Balthazar drawled in his British tongue.

“I said I was upset. Not psychotic,” Castiel sighed, slumping into his bean bag chair that hadn’t met with a butt for weeks. Moth balls were probably eating up Castiel’s ass at that very moment, but he couldn’t care less.

“I study behavior as well, don’t you know anything?” Balthazar sat opposite from Castiel and crossed his legs, setting his hands on Castiel’s thighs and leaning forward. “Tell me, my dear, dear Cassie, why are you upset?”

“I’m upset because my roommate won’t _leave me alone_.”

“Well, if don’t tell me anything, this sadness will only eat you from the inside out until you’re nothing but a dull and empty soul.”

“Where did you learn that from? God knows you’re not that caring.”

Balthazar shoved him good-humored before answering. “We had to examine works of Poe for an assignment.” Castiel raised an eyebrow. “He’s kind of a dark fellow, isn’t he?” his roommate continued.

“I suppose so, yes,” Castiel answered. Balthazar didn’t say anything for a moment, then chuckled.

“It’s kind of ridiculous once you think about it, isn’t it?”

“What is?”

“You! Cassie, you got bloody fired for kinking around with your Prince Charming, and now you’re here, talking to your roommate with whom you have no interest in communicating with!” Balthazar raised his hands in exasperation, like Castiel was just a sex-crazed maniac who talked with his feet.

“I enjoy our conversations just as much as you do, Balth.”

“Exactly!” He pointed to Castiel in agreement, then caught the time on his watch. “Oh, hell, I’ve got to go before I’m late.” Balthazar stood up and ran to the bathroom, exiting seconds later with a glop of gel in his hand.

“Wait, Balth, where are you going?” Castiel protested.

Balthazar smoothed a hand over his blonde hair and grabbed his jacket from the back of the door, talking back absently as he slipped on his Oxfords. “It’s the first Sunday of the month.”

“Oh.” Castiel fell back onto the bean bag chair with a soft flop. “Tea time.”

“It’s not ‘tea time’. It’s an overnight gathering of those who appreciate—oh, never mind. You wouldn’t understand,” Balthazar sighed, wiping excess gel on one of Castiel’s sweaters before swinging the door open. “We should have dinner sometime, my treat, and you choose where because you are very sad, in the metaphorical sense as well, and you being sad makes me stressed, which causes my hair to frizz for some odd reason,” Balthazar rambled, then took a deep breath. “Well, I’m off now. Ring me if you need anything, or if you have a breakdown of some sort. Ciao.”

“Wait, Balthazar,” Castiel called, and his roommate spun around, one foot in the doorway, one foot out.

“Yes?”

Castiel paused, wringing his hands. “Thank you, for trying to be helpful in general.”

Balthazar gave him a warm smile. “Cassie, I’ll deny I ever said this, but you are the probably the greatest roommate I’ve ever had the pleasure of living with, and even that is an understatement.”

“You’ve only had one other roommate besides me,” Castiel retorted.

“No, no, it was you, Chuck, and Chuck’s damn bong.” Balthazar rolled his eyes. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Castiel. Good luck on your first day at the Roadhouse. Don't do anything I wouldn't do.”

* * *

“Crap. I have to go back today and deal with my shitty last month of school. I should just stay here for the rest of the year and get my diploma online. I’ll say I had chicken pox or somethin’ and hooky’d a month’s worth of classes,” Dean mumbled, hours later, dumping their plates into the sink for—cough—Sam to clean up later. He opened the door to their pantry and searched for something more edible than Sam’s personal collection of canned peas and corn—seriously, the dude had a problem. “Could I do that? I bet you miss having your _awesome_ older brother live with you.” 

“Try ‘immature’.” Sam snorted, then looked up from his laptop where he was browsing for apartments near Stanford’s campus vicinity. “And no way. I like having the house empty when Jess is over and dad’s at the shop.”

“Sammy, you sly dog.” Dean wolf whistled, and his eyes stopped on a bag of unopened Jolly Ranchers he vaguely remembered buying last Halloween. He tucked it beneath his arm for later, and his watch caught on his jacket as he did, blinking the time that stated Dean needed to get back to the campus like right the fuck now or the Roadhouse will close for the night and Dean won't get his burger.

“Okay, I gotta go or Jo’ll bite my head off for not giving ’er her daily one-armed hug.” Dean swung his bag over a shoulder and tugged the front door open. Sam followed him out to his car. “Now recite Captain Star-Spangled-Awesome with me,” Dean said and turned around, grinning, and clapped his hands, rubbing them together eagerly. 

“Do we _really_ have to do this every time you leave?” Sam sighed. 

“ _Yes,_ now shut up.” Dean cleared his throat. “Don't do anything stupid, Sammy,” he recited. 

“How can I? You're taking all the stupid with you.”

“Damn straight I am. I'm gonna miss you.” Dean pulled his little brother into a hug, which Sam returned hesitantly because Dean still had remnants of cherry on his shirt, and the stain is sort of a bitch to get off your clothes. 

* * *

“Hey, hey, hey, table nine ordered the enchiladas. Not the mahi mahi. That’s for seventeen,” Jo barked, sticking an arm out in front of Castiel like a mother to her kid in the passenger seat. Castiel froze in his spot.

“Of course. I will deliver these entrees accordingly,” he complied absently, nodding, and tried to push pass Jo’s arm, but that single limb was probably 10x stronger than Castiel’s whole body strength so he doesn't even know why he tried. 

“Table nine—is uh, that way, smartass.” Jo jerked her chin in the opposite direction, raising her eyebrows at Castiel, who fixated his gaze down to the ground, not meeting the blonde's eyes, and, oh look, if he turned his head about 50 degrees to the left, he could make out a rooster in the stone flooring. A _cock_ in the _rock_ —which shouldn't be so hilarious to him. 

Jo lowered her hand from his chest after a few seconds of no response, either sensing Castiel’s distress or distracting hilarity. “You sure you okay, Novak?”

“I’m fine.” 

Jo snorted. “Right.” She didn’t push it any further, instead turning away and raising the tray above her head, weaving through the maze of tables and chairs to a booth in the corner.

Castiel didn’t even realize he was still standing in one position, daydreaming about nothing really, until Jo came back to him, furrowed her eyebrows, and eased the plastic tray out easily from his outstretched arms.

“Fishies are getting chilly, Novak. Lemme get that for you,” the blonde offered with a worried expression, setting both plates of food on the nearest table.

“What about—” Castiel began, and pointed to what he thought was the general direction of table nine and seventeen. Jo just rolled her eyes and ignored his weak protests as she grabbed his hand and yanked him towards the kitchen, dumping the empty trays into the sink as they passed by.

She pushed through swinging double doors, ushering Castiel and herself into the pantry in the back of the kitchen that smelled too much like marinated beef, spun Castiel around and pushed him into the cramped room. “Talk to me,” she demanded, leaning against the metal frame with arms crossed, looking far too much like her mother. 

“About?”

“About daisies and kittens,” Jo snapped. Castiel narrowed his eyes and gave her a ‘would-you-care-to-elaborate-on-that-statement-since-I’m-more-than-clueless-when-it-comes-to-talking-about-things-I-don’t-know-about’ look. Jo ran fingers through her blonde hair, exasperated, and about 110% done. “I mean _Dean_ , lover boy,” she sighed. 

Castiel hung his head low, and toeing at the dent in the concrete, murmured, “I said I was fine.”

Jo makes the ‘phone’ sign with a hand and brings it up to her ear. “Uh, hello? 911?” she said into her little finger. “Yes, I think I smell smoke.”

“That's because Ash is grilling barbeque—”

“No. Because it seems like SOMEONE’S PANTS ARE ON FIRE,” the blonde yelled, stepping forward and smacking Castiel upside his head. He winced.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Jo continued, pacing the small room that clearly did _not_ have enough space for the both of them. “He’s just a dude! Either sleep with him again and make up—” she counted off on her fingers, “—call your Romeo and declare your undying love for freaking jellybeans, or have a fucking straw—” Jo scavenged a nearby container and ripped open a fresh bag of said item, “—and suck it the fuck up!”

Castiel raised his arms in front of his face, attempting to deflect the straws Jo was now throwing at him. “I have no idea what you’re ta—” he started. 

“Bull. Shit. You know what? Stop it. Stop it right now.”

“Stop what exactly?”

“Stop thinking about him! Think of someone else!” Jo threw the whole bag at him.

“I have no one else to think about.”

“Think of Chris Evans. Think of Chris Evans very naked.”

“I don’t know who—”

“You’ve never seen Captain America?”

“Is that a euphemism for the name of a president?”

“Oh my fuck. You are such a loser, Castiel Novak,” Jo scowled and slugged his shoulder, a little harder than she meant to, or Castiel was just really weak and didn’t have a high pain tolerance. “I still don’t know how you managed to get into Dean’s pants. You know hardly anything about pop culture, and he’s just so…savvy about it. How do you two even manage to get along?”

“Is this Captain America a real person?” Castiel asked, purposely avoiding Jo’s question, because he wouldn't mind knowing the answer himself. 

Jo let out a long sigh. “He’s a superhero. An Avenger. You know, Marvel?” Castiel shook his head. “Boom, boom. Shield. Muscles. Steve Rogers? Any of it ring a bell?” She demonstrated by throwing a few punches into open air.

“The only hero I know is Hercules.” Castiel said flatly.

“He’s a _fictional_ _character_.”

“So is Captain America, yes?”

That causes Jo to hit him again. 

* * *

“You see, Dean-o, sexy is just a feather, and kinky is using the whole damn chicken,” Ash was saying as Dean pretended to listen, since every discussion with this mulleted freak was a one man conversation favoring Ash, who was always either A) drunk, B) stoned, or C) some combination of both. 

“Hey, Jo? D-dawg’s burger was right there. Get it, wouldja, sweetheart?” Ash called, angling his spatula to the plate sitting on the counter. 

“’Sweetheart’ me one more time, Ash, and I'll steal your kidneys in your sleep,” Jo threatened, then turned to the side and smirked, handing the plate to someone out of Dean’s view. That same someone used their back to open the swinging doors, so Dean didn’t get a good look of their face as they exit the kitchen. Then that someone turned around, and _shit_ , because that's Cas, the same Cas that Dean sorta thinks he's madly in love with, the same Cas who looks nine kinds of hot in that apron, which is weird because doesn't Cas work at the library?

“Hey, Novak!” Jo hollered at him and Cas whipped around, almost sliding Dean’s burger straight off the plate, and Dean blubbered silently to himself as his food balanced right on the edge of the tray, because Cas or not, that burger deserved to be treated with respect, damn it.

“Just remember: think happy, naked guys!” the blonde yelled through the order window and gave him two thumbs up. Cas just rolled the pretty blue galaxies on the northern part of his face and turned back, walking towards Dean blindly as he checked the table number on a clothespin clipped to the plate. Then he looked up, and blue eyes locked with green, and Cas almost dropped the plate. 

“Dean, wha-what are you doing here?” he stuttered, and Dean eyed the ‘ _Hi, my name is_ : Castiel. _Ask me about today's specials’_ label on his apron. 

“Well, eating, for one.” Dean gestured to the plate of burger that Cas still hadn’t given him. Cas glanced at the food in his hands, then back at Dean, like he was trying to connect two and two together, then finally handed the plate to a smiling Dean, who immediately took a bite out of the burger. 

Dean groaned, because that might have just be the best damn burger he's had in a long time—two days was fucking forever when _Sam_ insisted on feeding you—and was halfway through it before he noticed Cas still standing in front of his table. 

“Well, don’t just hover, Cas.” Dean used his foot to push out the empty seat in front of him. “Sit.” _Please_ , he begged silently, or he was gonna fucking lose it because two days without Cas was at least two years in Dean math. 

“I, um, I have to go back—” Castiel said, and pointed at random behind him.

“You’d rather hang in the potty room than sit here with me,” Dean said, amused. “C'mon, Cas. I know you don't have morning classes on Mondays.” Harmless conversation was harmless. Cas didn’t make any action to move, except to glance behind him again, and Dean thought for a moment that Cas was going to actually ditch him. “I'll just ask for ketchup,” Dean said then, “then you’ll have to come back to me.” 

Cas let out his ‘I'm going to regret this’ sigh and gingerly sat down in the chair, because maybe he knew he couldn’t resist Dean, Dean would like to think. Or maybe because Dean was kind of being a desperate dumbass, but fuck it—Dean's done a lot of stupid things around Cas. 

There’s an uncomfortable silence Dean tried to fill by saying how disappointed Sam was not meeting Cas, and Cas nodded, distracted, turning his head back every other minute for who goddamn knew. It was sort of getting on Dean’s nerves, and by the sixth time Cas shifted, Dean swore he was going to flip the damn table over.

It was only after Jo slammed Cas’ unasked Oreo milkshake on the table, gave Dean a look that clearly read ‘fuck him over and you'll never again see the light of day’, and stormed back to the kitchen to spy on them, when Dean, going for  wondering politely and failing miserably, asked, “Cas, where are we, exactly?”

Cas gave him a strange look, and when he recited the address of the Roadhouse, Dean shook his head. 

“No, I mean, are we like...still…you know,” he hinted, hoping Cas would actually catch on this time. Dean didn’t know where they stood, where the line between too far and not far enough was drawn, didn’t know if Cas defined ‘break’ as never letting their lips touch again. 

Cas looked down at his milkshake, poking absently at bubbles with the straw. Then he folded his hands together over the table and said slowly, “Dean, we've talked about this.”

“No, no, no,” Dean corrected too quickly. “You said ‘break’, Cas.”

“I did, yes.”

“And Friday night was fuckin’ stupid, forget about it, man. I was just bein’ a dumbass.”

“No, I was,” Cas started, then faltered, and Dean would give his left nut just to be able to read Cas’ mind. Cas took a deep breath, opened his mouth to say something, gave up, then tried again, “I would like to maintain our relationship as strictly platonic.”

“Platonic?” Dean echoed. “What d'you mean, just friends?” It's not exactly the answer he was hoping for. Just friends meant he couldn’t hold Cas’ hand under the table during lectures anymore or wake up to Cas’ stupid dark hair tickling his nose or argue with him over whether sex or pie was more satisfying and then having angry sex afterwards to allow Cas to prove his point.

“Friends,” Cas confirmed.

“O—kay. Friends it is.” But Dean’s heart caught in his chest as he took his glass of water and raised it up to the air. 

“To being friends,” he announced for the both of them, and Cas mirrored Dean, raising his own milkshake. “Cheers.” They clinked their glasses together, and when Cas’ sweet lips closed around the straw and sucked like his life depended on it, Dean choked on his water, bevause that should _not_ be such a turn on. 

“Dean.” Cas’ lips formed his name, concern in his blue eyes, and what the fuck ever agua? You choke on water when you drink it, then you drink more water to stop choking on it. What doesn’t kill you makes you fucking weak, and Dean didn't spend four years at college for that philosophy shit. 

“I'm good. Don't worry ’bout me,” he finally answered. Cas just nodded slowly and went down on the straw again, and it took Dean about eleven lifetimes to tear his eyes away from Cas’ mouth.

Dean cleared his throat after a moment. “Remember when we first came here? And you ordered—” he gestured to Cas’ milkshake, “—and wouldn’t share it with me, even though I paid for the bill,” Dean recalled, because friends can say shit like that to each other right? 

“I remember you offering to lick it out of my mouth,” Cas fired back, half-grinning bashfully, and Dean, not thinking properly and letting his instincts get the better of him, pried Cas’ milkshake from his hands and took a long sip, and another, and another. Cas watched him in open-mouth horror as Dean pulled off with a distinct ‘pop’, smirking devilishly and licking his red lips. He set Cas’ beloved milkshake down on the table. 

‘Payback’, Dean wanted to say, also half expecting Cas to lunge across the table and kiss him senseless, but when neither happened, and Cas was staring at his glass like it just sprung nine legs, Dean shifted uncomfortably in the chair, and not because his ass was starting to fall asleep. 

“What?” he pouted. 

“You used my straw.” Cas’ face scrunched up.

“And?” 

Cas’ hand froze from where he was digging in his apron for a replacement, and he looked up, tilted his head, and gave Dean a solemn expression, like he was just really tired of Dean’s nonsense.  “Your...spit,” he muttered finally. 

“My spit,” Dean repeated. “What, you worried about cooties or something?”

“Stop teasing me, Dean. I’m trying to be serious right now, and you're not helping,” Cas huffed, and Dean laughed, good-natured, because he didn’t think he’d ever get over making Cas blush and give Dean that shy smile that made his insides turn to mush. 

“Jellybe- _Cas_ , three days ago you had my tongue in your mouth. My spit has gotta be the least of your problems.”

Cas didn’t say anything for a moment, just pouted his lip and devoured more of his milkshake. “I wouldn't mind if you kept calling me that,” he said after a moment. 

Dean ate a fry. “Call you what?”

“Jellybean.”

 

 

Platonic, Dean's ass.

* * *

They talked for hours, laughing over everything and nothing, ignoring the death glares Jo gave them every time she passed the table or got them another batch of fries. Castiel, because he was already breaking the rules his first day on the job, and Jo did _not_ split her paycheck with him for this shit, and Dean, because Jo thought he needed to know just how miserable Cas was, and that he was really, _really_ apologetic.

But instead of kicking them both out of the Roadhouse, Jo just smiled to herself when the two boys weren’t looking, because, thank _fuck_ , now Cas won’t bother her with his Dean problems anymore.

* * *

Cas almost snorting milkshake out of his nose when Dean told him of the time he and Sam had jumped off the roof of their house, thinking they were Batman and Superman, respectively. 

Dean making Cas laugh so hard that he, unthinkingly, nudged their knees together, one squeezed between two others. 

Cas trying to balance a french fry between his top lip and nose, pursing his mouth, and laughed and dropped it when Dean told him that he looked like a duck. Then Cas proceeded to quack at every passing person, embarrassing himself more than anyone else, but Dean kind of thought it was cute, so sue him.

Dean offering to buy Cas another milkshake, even though Cas kept insisting he gets them for free. Dean going up to Jo himself, handing two wrinkled dollar bills to her, then strutting back to the table and sliding the glass across to Cas. 

Dean trying not to watch as Cas sucked the straw in his mouth. 

Dean trying not to redden as Cas swallowed, stubbled Adam's apple bobbing up and down. 

Dean trying not to wipe the stray drop off the corner of Cas' mouth with his thumb. 

Dean trying not to notice the warmth of Cas' ankle against his own. 

Their conversation tapered off into a comfortable silence, Cas staring at the bubbles at the bottom of his glass, and Dean, well, staring at Cas. They didn’t realize that that they’ve talked through the sunset, didn’t realize they’ve gone through six servings of French fries, didn’t notice how dark and rainy it was outside until a flash of thunder made Dean jump ten feet high in his chair. Cas snickered.

“Aw, shut up, Cas,” Dean muttered, venom-free, and checked the clock on the wall—way past Sammy’s bedtime. “I should go,” he told Cas, lifting himself out of the chair. “It's getting late, and it's a real bitch to drive in the rain at night, so I’m gonna leave now before it gets any worse.” 

“Of course.” Cas stood up with him, brushing stray crumbs off his apron. “I will see you soon, I hope.” He stuck a friendly hand out, smiling, and Dean thought to himself, _screw it_ , he’s missed this blue eyed weirdo, and threw his arms around Cas, who visibly stiffened as Dean clung to him. Cas didn’t respond, and Dean thought either because he was too shocked or didn’t reciprocate Dean’s feelings, which sort of hurt just thinking about it, so Dean pulled back from the hug after a few seconds and shoved his hands in his pockets as Cas rubbed his arms.

“Right. Later, buddy.”


	14. Chapter 14

Dean patted his pockets, sighing, before U-turning the car around a bend. He pulled the Impala back into the lot of the Roadhouse and parked in the empty space closest to the main door. With a flick of his wrist the headlights shut off, and Dean tugged the hood of his jacket over his head before lugging the door open and climbing out of the car. He trudged down the stone flooring that led to the restaurant door and laid a hand on the pull handle, not noticing the figure sitting in one of the patio chairs until it spoke up.

“Dean, what are you doing here?” a voice graveled just as lightning struck the sky, and Dean almost slipped right off the concrete, gaze snapping to the dark haired man on his left who needed to wear a goddamn bell or Dean swore he was going to have a fucking heart attack.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Cas. Don’t do that,” Dean growled, eyeing the strange trench coat hung around Cas’ built shoulders, and Cas looked down at himself, pulling the long sleeves over his hands. “I left my phone,” Dean said a moment later, trying the door, but it wouldn’t budge. Great. Fucking peachy. “Got a key?”

“Joanna doesn’t trust me as much as I’d like her to, but I could get your phone for you tomorrow, if you’d like.”

“Sure, thanks.” Thunder rumbled above them, and Cas shivered, soaked dark hair letting droplets fall down his face. “Cas, why are you still here?” Dean frowned, then checked his watch in the moonlight. “Roadhouse closed an hour ago.”

“Shuttle service is very hard to get in touch with in weather conditions like so,” Cas mumbled.

“What the actual fuck, Cas.”

“I just thought I'd sit here quietly and wait for the rain to pass.”

“What? No, that's ridiculous. Get in the car.” Dean made a grab at Cas’ coat, but the man shrugged his hand off. “Dude, c’mon.”

“My clothes are wet.”

“I don't care.” Dean reached out to grasp Cas’ wrist, holding tight as Cas struggled in the hold.

“Yes, you do,” Cas argued, using his other hand to try to pry Dean’s fingers off his arm.

“Okay, yeah, of course I don’t want you messing up the upholstery in my baby, but that's not the point.”

Cas fell slack in Dean’s hand, and he loosened the iron grip on Cas’ wrist. “What _is_ the point?” Cas asked.

Dean felt his mouth form a hard line. “It's 50 degrees out here and raining like one dollar bills on a stripper, okay? I’m your _friend,_ and I don't want you catching a cold or something.” Though it would be terribly adorable to witness a stuffy nose’d Cas, but Dean would keep that thought to himself.

“Why do you care? I deserve to be sick. You shouldn’t be here. Go away,” Cas demanded, looking awfully like a wet cat. A really, really sad wet cat.

Dean sighed. “I know where your dorm is, and I’m taking you there, then I’ll leave you alone. But for now, get the fuck in the car, Cas.”

“No.”

“ _No?_ ” Dean raised an eyebrow, water soaking through the hood and uncomfortably onto his neck and shoulders. Cas stared back at him with a hard look that dared Dean to object. So Dean didn’t say anything, instead wrapping arms around Cas waist and hauling the man to the Impala himself.

“Dude, cut it out. I’m trying to help your sorry ass,” Dean snapped when Cas tried to bite him.

“I don’t need help, and you’re being very unfair,” Cas muttered into the rain as Dean opened the passenger door, burly limbs still secured around Cas’ middle, but Cas let himself be pushed into the car nonetheless. Dean slid into the driver’s seat from the opposite side of the car, started the engine, and turned the heat on.

“You parked illegally,” Cas accused weakly, glancing at the wheelchair accessible sign through the windshield, and he breathed hot air into his palms to warm them. Dean backed the car out slowly, distracting his hands so they wouldn’t accidentally-on-purpose rub Cas’ thigh.

The car ride was quiet on the way back to campus, except for the comforting sound of rattling from when Dean was younger and shoved a handful of Legos into the vents for the hell of it. Traffic was relatively low at this time of the day, and Dean unsafely sped down the road because lightning and thunder were scary as fuck. He could hear Cas’ soft breathing, little puffs of exhales fogging up the glass on window where his head rested. Somehow during that time, the radio turned on, but he wasn’t really listening.

Dean slowed at a red light and opened his mouth to say something idiotic to cut the silence, but Cas beat him to it, leaning over the gear shift and pressing his mouth, hot and damp, against Dean’s. Dean’s eyes widened, and he made a shocked noise against the other man’s lips, and then Cas was pulling away abruptly and flopping back in the passenger’s seat like he didn’t just do _that_.

The car behind them honked.

Dean slammed his foot against the accelerator and the car jerked forward, and _holy shit_ , it took his brain a while to process it, but Cas just _kissed_ him, like it was some heat of the moment thing with the weird romantic atmosphere from the rain. Dean didn’t even have time to enjoy it, too busy caught up in his own thoughts.

“Dude, did you just kiss me?” he asked, more confused than stunned, because he couldn’t think of anything better to say other than the obvious.

Cas blushed, turning away from Dean and biting his lip. “No, not that I recall.”

“Uh, yeah. You did. Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why’d you kiss me?” Dean smiled at the reflection of Cas’ expression from the window. _Again_ with the fake innocence. Cas should know better by now, shame on him.

“I did not kiss you.”

“Yeah, you did, Cas,” Dean repeated, and unless he imagined the whole thing and was making a damn fool of himself, he was going to, _needed_ to, get Cas to admit he did, indeed, preform some mouth on mouth action with Dean. It mattered to know for some reason. “Why’d you kiss me?”

“I’m not answering that.”

Dean bit his cheek. “If you cooperate, I’ll give you a Jolly Rancher.”

“I do not want—fine. It was a red light, force of habit. Nothing really.”

“Oh.” Dean paused, speeding passed the campus’ pavilion and going almost forty in twenty mile per hour zone. “Too bad that was the last red light. Then you’d have to kiss me again,” he quipped.

“I don’t want to kiss you,” Cas retorted, slumping in the seat, watching the rain race across the window and disappear at where glass met metal.

“But you just did.”

“It didn’t mean anything.”

“Well, _thanks_ , Cas.”

“I don’t understand why you’re thanking me.”

“Of course you don’t. That was sarcasm.”

Cas just wiped his sleepy face on the fabric of the trench coat, and Dean watched him, the dark hair sticking to Cas’ forehead Dean wanted to run a hand through, his blue eyes peeking out from drowsy lids.

“Do you still want your Jolly Rancher?”

“No.”

“Huh. Suit yourself.”

—

When they arrived at Castiel’s building, and despite Castiel’s protests, Dean followed him out of the car, raising an arm over his face to shield from the rain. They stumbled up the stairs to Castiel’s floor, almost tripping over each other in the hallway, before reaching the room.

Castiel’s hand shook as he fumbled with the key to open the door, and when he heard a click he turned the knob, Dean using a hand to push it open. They staggered in, and Dean shut the door quietly behind them, throwing his damp jacket on the carpet and plopping onto the beanbag cushion. Castiel flicked the lamp on, and the room turned into a soft haze of amber with blurred shadows lying over the walls.

There were a few moments of uncomfortable silence, Dean using the time to play air guitar and Cas fiddling with his fingers. Dean hummed. Castiel stared at him. Dean coughed. Castiel stared some more. Dean eyed him suspiciously like Castiel was plotting to take over the world.

"I'm going to shower," Castiel said finally, breaking the tension, and to make a point, he looked down at the wet trench coat. Dean glanced at him, nodded, and Castiel took that as a cue to leave, shrugging off the coat and grabbing a pair of boxers and tee shirt from a drawer. He closed the door to the bathroom, half prepared for Dean to be gone by the time he was done, because, let’s be real for a second, Castiel kind of scared the guy. What was he thinking? Kissing Dean was an absolute no-no, and boundaries were crossed like ten miles ago. Just because they had a sort-of date tonight didn’t mean Dean reciprocated the very _non_ -platonic feelings Castiel felt for him.

Right?

—

There was something funny about the way Cas was showering and _naked_ in the bathroom that made Dean a little desperate for some lovin’.

He took a jolly rancher from his pocket to distract his mind, then popped it into his mouth—it was cherry. The flavor hit him like a freight train, reminiscing thoughts from their first time to present day, and Dean tried to remember what Cas’ mouth felt like on his own. His lips still tingled from when Cas planted on him in the car, and all Dean wanted then to do was pull Cas’ mouth back on his own, maybe have a quickie in backseat of the car, and _shut the fuck up brain_.

It didn’t occur to Dean how much he actually needed Cas, physically and mentally and emotionally, to survive. Dean needed Cas drinking milkshakes and trying to tie maraschino cherry stems with his tongue. Dean needed Cas waking up early on days he didn’t have classes and reading the campus newspaper like the domestic freak he was. Dean needed Cas giving him those weird Swedish-Thai massages when Dean fell asleep on the couch after a late night study session.

Dean needed Cas.

—

Castiel didn’t hear the bathroom door open, but the shower curtain drawing back caught his attention.

"Dean?" Castiel started before he was shushed, and then callused thumbs were wiping the shampoo suds from his eyes. In an instant, a cherry flavored, hot mouth was pressed over his, kissing him ever so gently, a clothed body fitting itself vertically along Castiel’s front and crowding him up against the shower wall. 

Of course it was Dean. Who else would it be? Castiel knew that mouth like the back of his hand, the curve of Dean’s biceps beneath Castiel’s fingertips, the slight flab in Dean’s stomach that Castiel liked to poke his nose into and just breathe in Dean. 

“Is this okay?” Dean asked, pulling back by a centimeter, and Castiel answered him by leaning in again, not being able to help the small sigh that escaped his lips as he sank into the kiss and closed his eyes.

A tongue swept across his mouth and Castiel opened his mouth a little, feeling hands rake down his back, to his hipbones, and then down to his ass. He moaned into the damp kiss, holding Dean’s half wet strands in his hands, cock taking a familiar interest of this wet, frankly, green eyed man biting along Castiel’s lower lip—and why the hell was Dean still dressed? He needed Dean to be naked like ten minutes ago.

“Off,” Castiel demanded, pulling the hem of Dean’s shirt up and over his head, and they laughed when it caught around his ears and caused his glasses to fall to the floor, forgotten. Castiel quickly made use of the belt buckle, undoing the strap of leather as Dean canted his hips upwards a little, hissing between his teeth as Castiel unfastened the button and pulled the zipper down smoothly. Dean hustled his jeans off, boxers coming down with them, then toed of his shoes and socks, before joining Castiel in the shower with a grin, pulling the shower curtain close behind them, and leaning in to kiss him senseless again.

There were a few minutes of casual groping, hands traveling fucking everywhere, touching, memorizing, like fingertips studying for an exam. Nipples, ass, back, neck, wrists, arms, over and over like a Sunday morning routine. The feel of Dean’s stubble dragging across his kiss swollen lips made Castiel gasp.

It was completely filthy how they rocked together, a slow grind, their erections brushing against one another. Sparks went up Castiel’s spine, and every nerve felt like it was on fire. The noises in the back of Dean's throat were downright obscene—a low guttural whine that exposed itself when Castiel dug his fingers into Dean’s sides and rolled his hips, and the sounds grew louder when Castiel brushed the back of his hand to Dean's hardening cock. 

Tongues wrestling, a Battle Royale, and whoever won had a hand fisted harshly in their hair and a pair of lips sucking dark bruises onto their throats, collarbones, chest, ears. Heads threw themselves back with no cushion to hit other than air, and the only audible sound was the mixture of rushing water and lewd noises coming from the both of them.

Dean latched his mouth on Castiel’s neck, and Castiel scratched harsh lines down Dean’s back, his own body arching into Dean’s arms. Dean chuckled when Castiel let out a moan, and he detached himself from Castiel’s throat a few minutes later, smirking, and flicked his eyes down to the rapidly approaching bruise on the skin right above his pulse point. Castiel ran a tentative hand over the nub of Dean’s nipple, teasingly, feeling it harden beneath his palm despite the warmth of the water. Dean gasped.

“You fucker,” he mumbled, then gripped Castiel’s damp shoulders, spun him around so he was facing the wall, and kissed the spot between Castiel shoulder blades. Castiel heard the sound of a foil wrapper opening and felt Dean’s hand traveling down to the curve of his ass, then between his legs. Dean circled Castiel’s hole with a lubed finger—God knows where he got the grease from, but Castiel was thanking everyone from Balthazar to Leo DiCaprio that Dean came prepared—and Castiel grinded shamelessly onto the shower wall because, _fuck_ , if Dean didn’t get those perfect callused fingers into him like right the fuck now, Castiel swore he was going to come just from foreplay and then kill Dean. Or vise versa. 

Dean pushed one digit into Castiel hole, crooked it, searching for that sweet spot that made Castiel see stars. “Dean.” Castiel moaned his name when Dean's finger found the small nub inside him, rubbing relentlessly until the world around him disappeared.

Dean pushed another finger in and began stretching and scissoring, then a third when Castiel said he was ready, and a fourth made Castiel scream Dean’s name and bite his lip to keep from coming so soon. 

Then Dean was pulling his fingers out, Castiel protesting while Dean rolled the condom over his leaking dick and lubed himself up. He rubbed the head of his cock against Castiel hole, teasing him, until Castiel turned his head and captured Dean's mouth into a kiss that made his mind go blank. Then Dean’s dick was sliding slick past Castiel hole in one rough thrust, nearly splitting him in half, and making Castiel rise up on the tips of his toes.

“Fuck, you're tight,” Dean breathed into his shoulder, and Castiel wiggled his hips a little to get used to the feeling of being so full. The burning sensation he felt before was long gone now, making way for the curling sensation of pleasure that had Castiel begging for more. 

“Move, Dean,” Castiel bit out after a moment, and Dean grunted, moving his hips in slow circles that made Castiel’s breath hitch. He couldn’t remember how to breathe except in moans and pants, with Dean’s strong arms wrapped around his waist, his body one long, unbroken line against Castiel’s own.

There was something so wrong about this, and Castiel was torn between the decision of “What are we doing?” and “Don't stop, _please_ ”, but Dean was kissing him, touching him, thrusting up in sharp, frantic movements, brushing Castiel’s prostate every time and pulling obscene noises out of Castiel’s mouth. Castiel should be ashamed because he knows he hurt Dean, but all his mind was repeating was “want, need, take” and Dean was here giving it to him. 

It's his guilty pleasure. 

“Fuck, Cas,” Dean panted as Castiel pushed down, grinding himself down onto Dean's cock like a complete whore, feeling it drive against his prostate with every movement, and he had to fight off an impending orgasm because it's good, it's too good, with Dean's arms locked tight and possessively around him like a shadow. The whites of Castiel' nails carved half-moons into Dean's arms, back, thighs, and Castiel was positively sure they were both going to have bruises and angry scratches when they were through.

Then Dean stopped, either because he’s a complete tease or he just realized that fucking Castiel wasn’t going to help solve their problems.

“Dean what is it?” he asked, bracing himself for rejection.

“No, it's just—shower sex is complicated,” Dean replied, Castiel breathed a sigh of relief, half-chuckling, half-rolling his eyes. “I don’t wanna, like, fall. You know? That’d totally kill the mood. Not to mention, I’d have like this weird lump on my head—”

“Stop talking, Dean,” Castiel said, arms reaching behind him give Dean a reassuring pat before pushing Dean back slowly and wincing when he felt Dean slip out. Castiel turned around and shut the water off, turning the knob to the right until the water died down and bumping into Dean as he did—seriously, these showers were clearly _not_ meant for two grown college men to fool around in, and you’d think the manufacturers would take sex into account when designing them.

—

Dean could tell Cas was thinking long and hard (ha ha, just because he’s real immature) about something, and Dean didn’t like it. It made him feel like Cas was having second thoughts about _this._ But whatever. Dean wasn’t pointing fingers or anything, but Cas started it.

Dean held Cas’ waist between his hands, muttering, “Jump, baby,” and Cas complied, wrapping his legs around Dean's waist, gasping when the action knocked their cocks together. Cas reached down between their bodies, taking Dean’s dick in his hand, giving it a few strokes before easing it into his hole again with a low moan. Cas bit out a cry, then attacked Dean's mouth with his own, hot and wet, all doubts gone as Dean awkwardly carried an armful of six foot, blue eyed man out of the bathroom. Dean tangled his fingers in Cas' wet hair, elbows under Cas’ arms to support him, because _fuck_ , Cas was all muscle and _heavy_ , and Dean wasn’t cut out for that, thank you very much.

When his feet hit carpet, Dean shoved Cas up against the nearest wall and thrust up into him, latching himself onto Cas' neck as the man above him arched his back and whined, clawing harsh lines down Dean's back and holding on for dear life. 

"Dean—" Cas whimpered when Dean added teeth to the equation, sucking on fresh out of the shower skin, then mouthing his way up to Cas' ear as his hips continued to move in small circles. Cas grinded down on his cock, head thrown back and smacking painfully against the wall so hard, Dean was sure there’d be a hole when he woke up the next morning.

"Dean. Bed. Now." Cas drawled in a sex-rough voice that did things to Dean's dick, and he bit his cheek and took a breath to keep from coming too soon or this would've been over a lot earlier than he'd (hadn't?) planned. 

Cas yelped when Dean yanked him from the wall, curling hands around the back of Cas' knees to hold him up as he stumbled blindly towards the bed, slipping out because Dean couldn't fucking concentrate with his cock buried to the hilt inside Cas. Dean dropped the man on the mattress after a few steps, climbing on after as Cas welcomed him with open legs. His thighs wrapped themselves around Dean's middle, and soft hands scratched at the short strands of hair behind Dean's neck. Dean reached down, gave Cas a chaste kiss, mouthing his way to Cas' jaw and ear, before bottoming out again with a low groan. Fuck, it felt so goddamn incredible Dean didn't know why they hadn't done it sooner. Cas was a tight heat around him, blue eyes almost blown black, and Dean eased Cas' hands from behind his neck, lacing their fingers together and fucking him slowly. 

The shower water on their bodies rolled off in a heat wave as the air turned sticky and damp with each breath of air. Cas made these breathy little moans in the back of his throat that had Dean's head spinning, and he mirrored them with his own grunts, the mattress protesting with every thrust. 

"Dean," Cas said breathlessly, and Dean looked up, jaw clenched tight. "If you go harder, I'm not going to break."

Dean nodded absently, sliding out until the head of his cock was positioned at Cas' rim, then used his legs as momentum to slam back into him. Cas yelled something unintelligible, moaning in pleasure as Dean repeated the action. His hands gripped Dean's own tight as Dean pounded into him, and Cas lifted his hips, searching for the perfect angle for that sweet spot that went straight to his dick. 

"Dean, oh god, right there, Dean, right there, right there," Cas chanted as Dean's cock dragged along his prostate with every snap of his hips, the delicious sound of skin slapping on skin, his balls a heavy weight against Cas' ass.

Dean leaned down, pressing his open mouth against Cas' breathy one, swallowing up the moans that spilled from his mouth and licking the trails of sweat from Cas cheeks. Dean let go of Cas' hands and gripped his waist hard enough to leave bruises, watching his cock slide in and out of Cas' tight hole. Cas' fingers scrambled for something to hold on to, then settled on raking angry scratches down Dean's back. 

"Cas, oh fuck, Cas, nghh—" Dean babbled, eyes rolling to the back of his head as Cas tightened his ass, eliciting a low groan from Dean that was so goddamn embarrassing, but he couldn't bring himself to care. 

"Do that again," Dean panted, and Cas nodded, smirking at him, and when Dean slid in home base again, Cas clenched down, hard, over Dean's cock, tight heat encircling him and Dean felt like he could _feel_ everything inside Cas, and it was _awesome_.

"Touch yourself, Cas. Do it for me, baby," Dean said, leaning down to nose the soft spot behind Cas' ear, and Cas reached between their bodies, gripping his cock tight in one hand and pumping it in sync with Dean's thrusts. He worried bottom lip between his teeth, blue eyes on Dean, strangled noises coming from the back of his throat. Dean leaned down to press their mouths together, Cas' dark hair fisted in his hands, as their rhythm went off track. Dean snapped his hips forward harshly, letting out all his frustration into this stupid perfect man below him, and Cas arched his back and came with a shout, smearing their stomachs. 

Cas sort of laughed and lifted his head, tongue happily snaking its way into Dean's mouth like it was home, and he bit Dean's lip lightly to drag him down so Cas' head rested on the pillow. Dean kissed him back softly, smiling back, and trailed his own tongue over the plush bow of Cas' top lip. He drew circles into Cas' palms as Cas' fingers closed and opened on an especially nimble thrust, mouth slack and blue eyes boring into Dean's. 

Dean was close, Cas knew it too, and Dean bucked his hips one, two, three more times, breathing hot and heavy onto Cas’ neck, before his rhythm faltered. He made a choked off noise, froze, then blew his load inside Cas, biting harshly into Cas’ shoulder as he rode out his orgasm. Dean continued to thrust weakly until he and Cas were too sensitive to do anything more, and he slumped over Cas, not knowing whether to smile or cry or laugh or bite Cas for manipulating him—sort of.

* * *

When Castiel finally spoke, they were half dressed, bathroom clothes-less or Balthazar would have thrown a bitch fit, and Castiel expected his mouth to form words along the lines of “ _We should talk_ ” or “ _I apologize_ ” or “ _Please don't leave_ ”, but “ _I love you_ ” came out, easier than Castiel imagined, and it seemed to surprise them both significantly.

Dean’s head snapped up from where it was bowed down to his chest as he tried to pull on the KSU tee shirt that Castiel recognized as his own from when Dean borrowed it weeks ago. His green eyes blinked, then squinted, and Castiel realized that Dean couldn’t see the expression on his face without his glasses, couldn’t determine if Castiel was being serious or just taking advantage of the spur of the moment. 

Dean didn’t speak when he shut the lamp off and wrapped an arm around Castiel’s waist and hauled him back to the bed. Didn’t say a word when he pulled the sheets up to their chins, or when he threw an arm over Castiel and him held tight, pulled him in a little bit closer, tucked his face in the spot between Castiel' shoulder and the mattress. 

—

Dean smiled. 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short update, and surprise! Not last chapter.
> 
> Lines taken from Friends 2.14

The sound of paper rustling jolted him to consciousness, and Dean’s eyes snapped open. Vivid images of the night before came streaming back into his mind, and he groaned inwardly, burying his face into the pillow— _Cas’_ pillow.

Cas was already awake and dressed, sitting cross-legged on the bean bag chair, probably doing the trivia on an old KSU Campus newspaper. The radio was on, tuned Dean’s favorite station, and he figured Cas must have turned it on. Dean shifted onto his back, and Cas looked up from the floor, smiling at the lump of blankets, then continued doing whatever he was doing at that ungodly hour of the day.

Cas’ pencil scratched on paper, over and over, the sound mixed with the mullet rock lazily pouring out from the speakers, and the combination of the noises slowly drove Dean insane—seriously, you could cut the tension in the room with a carrot, and that was a little ridiculous.

“Morning,” Dean said finally, because he couldn’t stand the silence anymore.

“What’s Paul McCartney’s real first name?” was Cas’ only comment. _Scratch, scratch_.

Dean paused and thought for a moment. He wasn’t a huge Beatles fan, a little too mellow for his taste, though he did enjoy the occasional _Hey Jude_. “Sir,” he answered. _Sir Paul McCartney_ —sounded ‘bout right.

Cas sighed a little, tapped the pencil on the paper, and looked up again to give Dean that unimpressed expression when Dean is being an unhelpful idiot. Dean just shrugged in response and rolled onto the floor, blankets and all, and _woah_ , his ass was bare.

“I’m naked,” Dean croaked, voice still sleep heavy, and Cas grinned, wiggled his hips, and threw him a pair of boxers. Dean caught them with one hand rubbed the felt between his fingers. “These aren’t mine,” he said.

Cas nodded. “They’re mine. Yours were ruined unfortunately. They’re drying as we speak.” He gestured to the bathroom.

“Oh.” Dean awkwardly slipped them on below the mass of blankets as his mind drifted over to how he would deal with Cas taking that hugeass step in their relationship(?). It felt nice, Dean thought. He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to feel. His mind wasn’t completely wrapped around it yet—still very much in a state of shock because _holy shit, Cas loves him_ —but Dean wasn’t going to tell Cas that. Poor guy might take it the wrong way, and Dean didn’t think he was qualified for the challenge of sad Cas.

Maybe it wasn’t that big a deal Dean was making it to be. Maybe Cas didn’t mean it and wanted to take it back, and why did that thought make Dean’s chest hurt? Maybe it was heat of the moment _I love you_ , that post-orgasmic haze, where everything was good and fuzzy at the same time.

That didn’t explain why Dean sort of wished Cas really did mean what he said.

Cas folded the newspaper into a neat square and set it down. “I know what you’re going to say,” he started slowly.

He did? “You do?” Dean sat up and blinked at him, because hell, _Dean_ didn’t even know what he was going to say.

“Yes, and I really don’t care.” Wait, _what?_ Cas took a breath and continued, “I stand by my words, Dean Winchester, and nothing you say can convince me otherwise.”

Okay. “Alright,” Dean agreed.

“Alright?” Cas repeated incredulously.

“Alright,” he confirmed, and Cas huffed.

“I wasn’t expecting you say it back, but a little empathy would have been nice, Dean.”

“Just gimme some time.”

“For what?”

“To think about it. Y’know, let it sink in,” Dean said, and what the hell did Cas mean when he said he didn’t expect Dean to say it back? For his information, Dean was perfectly capable of saying _I love you_ , but y'know, just to people who mean a lot to him. And Cas surely meant a great deal to him. Why _wasn’t_ Dean saying it back?

Cas’ face was something Dean didn’t like, lips curved downwards and blue eyes drooping at the edges. “Okay,” Cas answered after a long moment and stood up. “I should leave.”

“This is your room, Cas. I’ll go,” Dean offered, already halfway through untangling his legs from the sheets. Cas’ boxers felt a little smug around his hips, but there was no way in hell Dean was going commando in jeans.

“No!” Cas said a little too quickly, throwing his arms out. “You can stay. I have…classes.”

“Not on Monday mornings you don’t, babe,” Dean said absently, then shut his mouth when he caught the deer-in-headlights-expression Cas had splayed on his handsome face. “I’m sorry,” he started, but Cas cut him off with a small peck to his stubbled cheek, before slinking out of the room and leaving Dean speechless.

* * *

“We slept together last night.”

Jo gaped at him. “You did _what?_ ”

“We engaged in sexual intercourse—”

“Novak, I know what sex means. I’m not an idiot.”

“What happened after?” Charlie asked, ignoring Jo’s comment.

“I told him that I loved him.”

“You did _what?_ ” Jo’s eyes widened to the size of golf balls, which wasn’t the nicest sight, but who was Castiel to point fingers? He probably looked like a sad dump truck. 

Castiel frowned, shifting in the seat since his buttocks were kind of sore and wood benches don’t do any justice. “I said I told Dean—”

“That was a rhetorical question, Cas,” Charlie interrupted.

“Wha—well, what’d he say?” Jo asked, mouth hanging open in disbelief like Castiel was the most interesting thing since canned peas.

“Nothing,” Castiel answered, staring at a tree in the distance to keep from making eye contact. Maybe it was a mistake. Did he really think saying _I love you_ would make Dean his? Make him desire Castiel more?

Castiel thought of the night before, Dean’s pensive face when Castiel threw those words at him in an attempt to make Dean _his_ , the rush of emotion, rejection, that made Castiel’s heart sink when Dean spooned with him instead, the lovely scrape of Dean’s stubble on his back giving him the answer to Castiel’s own question that _no, Dean doesn’t love you. You hurt him._

And it made Castiel upset, almost angry even, when Dean neither accepted nor rejected Castiel’s feelings. And for what, to spare Castiel the pain? Castiel wasn’t a fragile heart of strings that Dean could just tamper with and put back on the shelf when broken.

“Nothing? Nothing. I’m gonna whoop his sorry ass.” Jo stood up from the table, and Castiel snapped out of his thoughts.

“Joanna, _no_ ,” Castiel protested as Charlie grabbed their friend’s arm and held her back. “Dean—he just smiled.”

“He _smiled_?” The two girls repeated in unison.

“Assuming that’s also rhetorical, yes, when we were post-coital in bed. I felt Dean smile against my skin.” Castiel patted his shoulder blade accordingly, faking a smile so they’d assume everything was okay.

Charlie’s face broke out into a grin. “He’s your lobster.”

“His _what?_ ” Jo exclaimed just as Castiel said, “I don’t understand that reference.”

“You know, lobsters! It’s a known fact they fall in love and mate for life. And they hold each other’s claws like this.” Charlie fashioned her hands into “lobster claws” in demonstration and Castiel tilted his head as if his friend would start making a least some sense from a different angle.

Charlie’s phone rang, saving Castiel from any other confusion, and she scampered off to answer it. Jo touched his arm gently. “So, what’re you going to do about it, Novak? You’re just gonna let him go?” 

“No, I want to keep Dean. He's mine,” Castiel said quietly. “And I want to give him stuff, like coffee and music and cheeseburgers—”

“And orgasms,” Jo snorted. 

“No,” Castiel drawled. 

“Yes,” the blonde smirked. “Admit it, you little shit.”

Castiel paused. “Maybe so. But I’ll still love Dean if we don't engage in promiscuity.”

“That's just a fancy word for sex.”

“Fine. Dean is excellent in the sex, I'll give him that.”

“Dude, that's gross. I've known the guy since diaper stage.”

Castiel just rolled his eyes, standing up from the table, and bid his goodbye, mumbling something about final projects. 

* * *

As he expected, Dean was nowhere to be found when Castiel arrived back to his dorm, but his chest still stung when he clicked open the door and found that Dean’s beautiful smile wasn’t greeting him hello.

Dean’s glasses were still strewn across the floor in front of the bathroom, as if he left in a rush, probably because he wanted to put as much distance between Castiel and himself. Castiel sighed and put the glasses in his pocket to return later if he ever ran into Dean by (purposeful) accident. Then thinking _why the hell not_ , he unfolded the pair and slid them over his ears, pushing the middle part towards the bridge of his nose. Castiel looked at his reflection in the mirror, blue eyes watering slightly because of the strong prescription, and thought that maybe, just maybe, he could try to see things from Dean’s perspective.


End file.
